


When You Come Home

by pressforward



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Trans Kurapika, i'm a simple soul and i know what i like, kurapika needs.... more friends, leorio needs better friends, whilst once said 'kurapika's friends need him to have more friends' and it haunts me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-08-06 03:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 84,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16380536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressforward/pseuds/pressforward
Summary: After the events of Dark Continent and another disappearing act, Kurapika shows up on Leorio’s doorstep with no explanation and a simple request: To help him bury the remains of his family.With an offer like that, how could anyone refuse?(Also known as: Several Years of Semi-Repressed Trauma Knock Kurapika Flat on His Ass)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this chapter: brief mention of vomit
> 
> Title from ["Cameo Lover"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiv9nQ-KV-0) by Kimbra

The call comes mid-afternoon. Leorio is with a patient, and misses it, or is shadowing the doctor on-duty, and still misses it. He misses the second one too, probably when he’s hollering down a back hallway to know whose job it was to order the new vaccines since their current stock expired yesterday and someone else is on his ass about it, or when that kid comes in with a split forehead and hurling, and really, really should be taken to the emergency room instead.

“We’re regular patients,” the father insists. “We want to see our regular doctor.”

“What,” Leorio says, as carefully as he can, since apparently his ‘talking sense into parents’ voice could use some improvement, “is the problem with the _emergency room doctors?”_

Still needs work. The kid wobbles, even with her dad’s hands on her shoulders, then throws up on his shoes. It’s fine.

“It’s fine!” he says to the parents, who are looking at him like he had something to do with it. It’s fine. He turns to yell back at the front desk. “Can I get some wet paper towels and an ice pack?”

The throw-up’s mostly saliva and bile, stomach was probably emptied the first few times she hurled. Poor kid. He crouches; no sense in making her look up. She’s trying to track, but not doing so good.

“Hey buddy,” he says, and she’s looking towards him at least, squinting like it’s too bright. “Can you tell me your name?”

Someone taps him on the shoulder, then hands him a stack of damp paper towels and one of the gel freezie packs. Perfect. He’s folding some of the paper towels around the ice pack when she wobbles again. Her dad is an idiot and has jostled her shoulder to get her to answer.

“Don’t do that,” Leorio says, scowling up at him as she says, “Nita.”

“Nita, huh? Nice name.” He offers her the pack. “Nita, can you hold this for me? We’re gonna go sit right over there.”

When she reaches uncertainly for it, he folds one of her hands around it, gets it up to her head before giving his shoes a quick wipe. Then he stands to steer her towards the seating area. Several of the waiting patients stand as they approach, and he points to one of the chairs on the end. “If we could just get that one, that would be great.”

The person clears out to hover near the magazine rack, and he gets Nita settled. She got here fine, she’s standing fine; a little more sitting shouldn’t hurt.

“Whoops!” he says as the ice pack slips, and readjusts it, waits for her to get ahold of it again. Kind of late for it, but best to do a quick check. No light, but he can get the basics down. “All good? Okay. Nita, you know what today is?”

“Tuesday.”

“Great, Tuesday’s great. You have school today?”

“Yeah.”

“Good for you! Do you have a favorite subject?”

She squints at him and says slowly, “Math.”

Cute kid. “Math’s good. Math’s great! Now I need you to do some counting for me. Nita, how many fingers am I holding up?”

She tracks, face scrunching a little, partly from effort and partly from what looks like annoyance. “Two.”

“Good work. Can you sit here quietly and keep that on your head for me? Tell me if it’s too cold.”

Meanwhile the dad is hovering at his elbow, trying to barge into the conversation once he thinks diagnostics are over. “When can we see a doctor?”

Leorio adjusts the ice pack again, the mom at his other elbow, clearly itching to swoop in, and Nita is looking grumpier by the second. “Not right this second.”

_“We came here--”_

“Uh, no,” Leorio says, then stands. He’s supposed to trying for polite yet firm, but all he’s really got going for him is firm and not blatantly rude. It’s fine. He’ll work with it. “We’re sitting here, and I am calling you an ambulance.”

“We’re here already--”

“We don’t do any surgery here, so we’re not equipped for stitches,” Leorio interrupts, ticking off points on his fingers. “If she needs additional scans for brain damage, we haven’t got equipment for those either, and she’d have to move anyway. The staff in the ER have seen way more cases like this, and can give you a better idea of what’s going on. You have to go to the emergency room. If you want to schedule a follow-up with us now, that’s fine, but we’re just not the right place for Nita now.”

“But you’re the _hospital!”_

Leorio pauses, takes a second look. The guy’s shoulders are way too tight and his mouth is pinched beneath his mustache, complexion pretty good but still a little too pale. Really, he should know better by now. Most of that bluster’s hiding a real rattled parent, who got one idea in his head because it was familiar and can’t let go of it. 

“Yeah,” he says. “We are a hospital. Who do you see?” 

“The short woman,” he says. “Doctor Gladgood.”

“Gladwell,” Nita says, clearly gearing up for a big sulk once this is all over.

“Gladwell!” the mother says, then shakes her husband’s arm. “Dr. Gladwell.”

“Great,” Leorio says. He turns to the front desk. “Hey, can we get Dr. Gladwell up here real quick?”

She’s in the waiting room in five, like… like… 

It should be like a movie star hero, swishing labcoat, clicking heels, steely eyes, but really, she just looks like a mom. Not his mom, she’s way smaller and aged better, but she’s got that same measuring look in her eyes, like she doesn’t know what the problem is, but she’s got her two hands and _something’s_ getting done.

She spots them in an instant, beelines right over.

“Lemme take a look,” she says. Definitely not like his mom, who would’ve never let her kids get away with talking that sloppy in a hospital.

Leorio hands over the icepack and shuffles to the side.

“What happened?” she says, carefully adjusting Nita’s wrist to take a look at the slapdash bandage on her forehead. Soaked through, but no leaks.

“She was playing in the backyard,” the father says. “On the trampoline.”

Dr. Gladwell shakes her head, mutters, “Those da-- dang trampolines.” Then she lowers the icepack back onto Nita’s forehead. “Careful, lemme know if it hurts.”

“It’s _cold,_ ” Nita protests, intercepted by her mom when she tries to swat the icepack away.

“It’ll keep you from getting a giant egg on your head,” Dr. Gladwell says. “Can you just keep that on three more minutes for me?”

Nita grumbles, but she nods carefully and keeps the icepack in place. Dr. Gladwell fishes a penlight out of her pocket and says, “Neets, can you look at me? Tell me if it’s too bright.”

Nita heaves a sigh and doesn’t protest as she goes through the diagnostics again. She can remember the date, her name, her birthday, the bus she takes to school every day, which is good, really good. Dr. Gladwell clicks off the penlight, then looks up at Leorio. “What do you think?

“Tracking’s not bad, little sensitive to light but it looked like her pupils were fine. She’s a little dizzy, but her memory’s okay,” Leorio says. “Lightly concussed, should have a follow-up as well as monitor for any new symptoms, but we shouldn’t need any imaging. That cut could use stitches, though.”

Dr. Gladwell nods firmly once, says, “I agree,” then stands again to talk to the parents. She talks to them the way she talks to Leorio: simple, straight-forward, always calm but never impassive. “Nita’s gonna be just fine,” she says, and the dad is hanging on her every word. “If it bled this much, it could use a couple stitches, just to make sure it heals right, and the ER staff can do a more thorough check. You can even do urgent care, but I really think the main thing is just stitches and lots of rest. No bright lights and really limit screentime for a few days. Think you can do that?”

The dad’s already back with Nita, both hands on her shoulders and looking her over like he’s checking to make sure she’s still in one piece. “She’s okay?”

“She’ll be just fine.”

“Really?” the father says, and Dr. Gladwell nods again, zero hesitation.

“Really. We can even schedule your follow-up now, just so we can make sure we’re keeping an eye on her recovery.”

“Please, yes,” he says, sagging with relief.

“C’mon up with me to the front desk, then, and we can get that sorted out now,” she says, putting a hand on his elbow. To Leorio, she says, “Can you get logistics arranged with Mrs. Ruwani?”

“You bet,” he says, then turns back to Nita and her mom, who’s now perched like a bird on the seat next to her. “Mrs. Ruwani?”

“Yes, I heard,” she says, still shaken, but doing a lot better than she was. She’s clutching her daughter’s hand, and Nita is slouched back in the chair, looking bored with the entire scene. “Where can we go for stitches?”

“Well, there’s the emergency room, which is not as scary as it sounds, or we can call over and see if someone can take you at an urgent care clinic.”

She’s looking up at him, gaze level, hand tight over Nita’s. “Who do you think is better?”

“Well, emergency does way more of these in a day, so they have more practice. They’ll do a really good job. Once it’s healed, you’ll hardly know it’s there.”

She nods thoughtfully, seems like one of those people who get their bearings once they start getting the pieces of a solution, probably a big fan of actionables. “Then we’ll do that.”

“Sure. Can we call you an ambulance, or do you wanna drive there on your own?”

“We don’t need an ambulance, so I will drive,” the mom says firmly, though she still looks rattled. She nods towards where her husband is standing by the front desk. “He drives like a maniac.”

He likes her. “Great,” he says, starting to get up, but then she holds out her free hand. He hesitates, then carefully holds it between both his own. “Don’t worry. This is all gonna be just fine.”

She grips his fingers, mouth tightening, then nods to him and says, “I think so too,” and lets go. Then she says, “Let’s go, Nita,”and steadies her daughter as she stands.

Her husband meets her at the door, then turns and offers his hand to Leorio, who takes it for a solid handshake, little on the tight side of firm, but not at all painful.

“Thank you,” he says, then, “Keep studying with Dr. Gladwell. She is the best.”

Leorio grins, says, “You bet,” then waves them out the door.

He waits until the door shuts behind them before heaving a sigh, shoulders unknotting, then turns and heads back to the exam rooms. It’s nice that it worked out, but there’s no time to feel good about it. He has to keep moving, otherwise the backlog builds up and appointments run long and then they really have to rush and the work gets sloppy. 

He comes back to a stack of prescriptions to fax and two more kids who need their vaccines. Thankfully those are still ones they have in stock, so at least those are two awkward conversations he gets to avoid. He grabs an undergrad and points him towards the stack, then starts drawing up the vaccines. Sometimes he forgets it’s only been three months since they made it back from the Dark Continent. For better or worse, he doesn’t know how to freeze anymore.

He clocks out an hour and a half later than usual, doesn't bother changing out of his scrubs. No infectious diseases, no blood, no one else barfed on him, so he's tired but presentable at exactly 7:30 P.M. Weird to be tired with a set schedule. It’s like there was a constant hum in his bones the whole past year that’s just gone. Feels emptier that way.

_Adrenaline,_ he thinks, sighing as he reaches into his jacket pocket to check his phone, readjusting the bag slung over his shoulder. Did he have dinner plans? He doesn’t remember. Stupid to be complaining about less death-defying stress.

The phone buzzes once as his hand brushes the screen and he pulls it out to take a look at the messages, resigned. Must’ve stood someone up. Two missed calls, one voicemail. Whoops.

He swipes to take a look, then stops in the middle of the sidewalk.

All three are from Kurapika.

The voicemail is only two seconds long but he goes to listen anyway, fumbles his password the first time and swears before trying again and bringing the phone to his ear. There’s a sharp inhale, and then the hang-up, and he exits voicemail without deciding whether or not to delete it. Then he calls Kurapika back.

Three rings, and then a click.

“Where are you?” Kurapika says immediately, before he can start. No greeting, no preamble. His voice sounds faded, maybe just because of the connection.

“Better question!” Leorio says, angry already. Who does he think he is. “Where have _you_ been?”

“That’s not important. Where are you now?”

Oh, he knows this one. Give a little, get a little. Kurapika’s spent too long with the mafia. He grits his teeth, then says, “Seventh and Westwood, I was just heading home. Kurapika, what’s this about?”

There’s a short pause, then Kurapika says, “I’ll see you soon,” and hangs up.

_“Excuse you?”_ Leorio demands of his silent phone, doesn’t feel any better for it. He redials, glaring up at the streetlights as it rings, once, twice, three times, keeps ringing.

He hisses when he hits voicemail, the automated message calmly informing him that the user’s voicemail box is full, because of course it is. “I know you were just on your phone, asshole!”

A passerby gives him a look, keeps walking, and he sneers at their back before glowering at his phone again. No use in texting, he knows that already. May as well head home.

\---

Kurapika’s waiting for him in the lobby. Leorio halts, trading glances with the concierge before giving him a little wave, then goes to stand in front of Kurapika, slouched in a chair along the wall, duffel at his feet.

He’s cut his hair again, short and choppy, still hasn’t given up on the button-down and slacks though he’s lost the blazer and tie, added a peacoat that almost gives him the right silhouette. He looks about as tired as Leorio feels, only moving his eyes to glance up, contacts in, head leaned back against the wall.

“How do you know where I live?”

Kurapika just blinks, lowers his gaze again to look steadily at the far wall and the concierge desk. “You’re not a hard man to find,” he says, a faint note of reproach in his voice.

“Unlike _some people,_ I like to make it easy for my friends to find me,” Leorio replies, settling into the chair beside him.

Kurapika doesn’t even look over. Leorio frowns, shifting forward to look into his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, tone flat and gaze steady, but that’s all. No other movement. Liar.

Leorio tries again. “What’s this about? You called twice. You even left me a voicemail.”

“I did not intend to leave you a voicemail.”

“Long one, too. Must be real important.”

Kurapika remains silent for a moment longer, just breathing, then says, “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”

He should say no. Or demand more details. Or make Kurapika explain even a fraction of what he’s been doing and where he’s been all this time. Instead he sits there, looking at Kurapika in profile, the stillness of his face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the set of his mouth, and how he stares. After a while, Kurapika turns slightly to look back at him, eyes dark and unreadable. Damn it.

“Sure,” Leorio says, heaving himself out of the chair and jerking his head towards the elevators. “Come on up.”

\---

“Here we are,” he says, sweeping one arm out as he opens the door and turns on the lights. “Home sweet home.”

He shuts the door behind them, scuffing out of his shoes and dropping his bag on the floor. Shrugging out of his jacket, he heads towards the kitchen, drapes it over one of the stools at the island. Kurapika is still by the door, glances from living room to kitchen to the three doors further back before turning his attention to the intercom by the entryway. Weird thing to look at. Just a standard model. He’s seen them before.

“What’re you waiting for? Come on in.”

When Kurapika starts in, he makes a quick gesture with both his hands. “Ah, hey, no shoes. We’ve talked about this.”

Kurapika glowers at him before toeing off his loafers, which is probably a good sign. Leorio opens a cabinet by the microwave and rummages through it, pretending to ignore him.

Kurapika doesn’t head for the kitchen immediately, instead takes a slow, wandering circuit around the living room, examining table, windows, lamps, the TV. As he drifts closer, he glances at the first of the doors to his left.

“My study,” Leorio says, leaned back against a countertop, halfway through a glass of water. He’s used to it now, a whole separate room, just to himself, just for his books and chair and desk. And a fold-out cot so it can double as a guest-room. No sense in wasting space.

Kurapika considers it a moment longer, then approaches the kitchen, sets his bag down by one of the stools. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

Leorio snorts. “Don’t sound so surprised. You want anything? Water? Juice? Coffee?”

“None, thank you. No landlines?”

“Who uses landlines anymore?”

“I see.”

He comes around the kitchen island to reach past Leorio and rummage around in the same cabinet for a glass. Leorio rolls his eyes, doesn’t comment as Kurapika shuts the cabinet, turns to the sink for water. He’s still holding his mouth like he has something else to say, but if he hasn’t spit it out by now, it’ll be a back-and-forth ordeal to get him to spill anything at all. 

Leorio puts his own glass aside, folds his arms. “Listen, it’s been a long day. What’s up?”

Kurapika takes a drink, glances at him. “I need a favor.”

“So now he needs a favor,” Leorio says to the ceiling. “Can't text in three months, but he can ask a favor. Okay, I’ll bite. What kind of favor?”

“I have all the eyes.”

“Oh.”

“Would you--” Kurapika begins, then exhales, folds one arm close, hand tucking into the opposite elbow as he holds his water like he’s at some fancy cocktail party, not in Leorio’s kitchen, talking about how he’s spent the last three years doing something nearly impossible. “Could I ask for your help… in bringing them home?’

“I-- Of course I’ll help,” Leorio says. What a ridiculous question.

Kurapika is examining his glass. “It may be dangerous.”

“Could have started with that,” Leorio grumbles, tapping his fingers as he thinks it over. If Kurapika says it’s dangerous, it probably is. “How bad could it be? Bunch of jars. No problem.”

“The value on the black market is… significant,” Kurapika says, putting his glass on the counter. “A good target for anyone looking to get rich quickly.”

“Are you serious? Don’t answer that.” Leorio sighs, and rubs the bridge of his nose. Gentler, he says again, “Of course I’ll help you. What do you need?”

“I just need some help with transportation. I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Sounds like you,” Leorio says, scowling at him. “Anyone else?”

“No.”

“Just us, then?”

Kurapika flicks him a glance that’s just a shortened eye roll. “Obviously.”

He frowns back. “Why me, if this is so important? Why not get someone stronger, like one of the other Zodiacs? Or Killua. What about Killua? I’m sure he knows plenty of people, too. Or someone from Nostrade?”

Kurapika holds his gaze, doesn’t answer.

Leorio takes a step forward to stare down at him, expression and stomach sinking. “Wait, let me guess. I was last on your list.”

“I’ve only asked you,” Kurapika says, looking up at him without batting an eye; he’s never been impressed by looming. They’re nearly toe-to-toe, haven’t been so close since… well. “Please.”

Leorio considers him, then relents. It’s official. He’s a sucker. “All right. When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

_“Are you fucking kidding me,”_ he demands. Kurapika tenses, but Leorio’s already brushing past him, waving him off. “Forget it, forget it, I just have to go pack and send some emails, sit down, make yourself at home, hey why are you like this?”

Halfway to his bedroom door, he wheels and marches back to the kitchen where Kurapika is eyeing him with something approaching alarm. He stops on the other side of the island and says, “What’s the weather like over there anyway?”

Kurapika hesitates, then says, “Warm.”

“Okay but. How warm?”

“I don’t know. Warmer than here. Look it up.”

“Fine. Where was it again?”

“Lukso,” Kurapika says, shoulders lax but both hands pressed flat on the countertop before him. “Lukso Province.”

Too far to see clearly, but Kurapika has his contacts in anyway, is staring dead ahead like he is daring further comment. Leorio considers, then gives it up. “Sure,” he says, then retreats.

He can take a week, probably. Travel time shouldn’t be too long, and he double-checks the map and the weather forecast. Hardly any major terminals or stations, but Kurapika should know the way. He opens his email, does a quick scan to make sure he’s not missing anything major (useless admin announcement, useless club announcement, advertisement, and that one email from a classmate he’s been ignoring for two days now), then starts a new email to one of his professors.

He copy-pastes it three times, then checks his phone. Probably too late to bother Dr. Gladwell. He’ll leave a message tomorrow, maybe send another message or two later. The more pressing concern is that he hasn’t eaten since noon.

He gets up and goes to poke his head through the door. Kurapika’s moved from kitchen to couch with his jacket and bag, doesn’t look like he’s doing much of anything while he waits. Honestly, it’s shocking he’s still here. He must really need the favor. “Did you have dinner? I’m getting pizza, what do you want?”

“Anything.”

The pizza arrives as he’s cramming a final shirt into his bag. Leorio emerges to sign for it, motions for Kurapika to stay on the couch as he brings it over. He uses the box to butt the remotes out of the way before settling it on the low table in front of the TV, flipping the lid open before sitting on the floor. Kurapika already has the best access spot on the couch, and he’s too lazy to grab a plate. 

He’s starting his second slice before Kurapika’s gotten even halfway through his first. Weird. He is hungry, but Kurapika’s not necessarily a slow or picky eater. Now though, he’s eating like a robot, or maybe like a robot would if it could eat. The only time his face changes is when he drops a pepperoni on his lap and just looks down at it with something like mild concern before picking it up and eating it.

“Hey. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Kurapika says, looking more engrossed in creasing the last of his pizza slice in half to eat like a taco. “And you?”

“I still think it’s weird when you do that. I’ve been better.”

Kurapika takes another slice, doesn’t ask. Asshole. Leorio frowns at the last bit of crust he’s holding before cramming it in his mouth. What else was he expecting, though.

“So,” he says, crunching then swallowing. “You made it back, huh?”

Kurapika is apparently absorbed in looking over his new slice. “So it would seem.”

“How long you been back?”

“Long enough.” He glances up to meet Leorio’s glare, then sighs and relents. “A few days. It’s not important.”

“It’s kind of important,” Leorio mutters to himself, then says, “It’s only been a few months for me. How’re you holding up after all that?”

“All what.”

“You know. The Dark Continent.” The end of that weird business with the princes. Everything they said before leaving the ship on separate teams. “Spooky shit.”

“Well enough,” Kurapika says, and it’s easy to tell what that tone means. No more answers on that front.

“Well,” Leorio says, then exhales. “Good thing you’re here. Cheadle was pretty pissed when you went MIA.”

Kurapika just shrugs, takes another bite, nearly drops another pepperoni.

“Where’d you go anyway? What have you been up to?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Excuse me for wanting to catch up after months,” Leorio says, stung.

“Three months.”

“Try six. We lost comms for a hot second, remember? For a little while, I wasn’t even sure you’d gotten off the Dark Continent!”

“I’m here now,” Kurapika says, face calm and still, like this is all normal.

“So talk to me!”

Kurapika puts his half-eaten piece down, reaches for a napkin to wipe grease and grit off his hands. There’s just a flicker of his old annoyance, but then it passes and he just looks tired and small.

“Leorio,” he says quietly. “I’m so close to the end.”

Yeah. Okay. That’s… fair. Leorio sighs, then turns back to the pizza and starts pulling off another piece carefully, to keep the cheese at the end from sliding off. “All right. Talk later, then.”

They finish dinner in silence. Or he finishes, at least. Kurapika seems to have no intention of picking up his half-eaten piece again. It’s fine. Someone’ll probably eat it in the morning, Leorio figures, and it’ll probably be him.

He goes to put the leftovers in the fridge, then washes his hands before going to rummage in the hallway closet. Guest stuff is up top, not much of a reach, and towels are on a middle rack. He bundles it all up, then takes a few steps back.

“Kurapika.”

On the couch, Kurapika looks up, then frowns. Leorio realizes his mistake.

“Uh,” he says, then squashes the urge to drop his armload and pretend it never happened. “So. Where are you staying tonight?”

Kurapika continues frowning. Not annoyed at him, just confused and annoyed about that. Classic. “I’ll find a hotel--”

“Because you can stay here if you want,” Leorio blurts. If he says it fast enough, it just might seem unplanned. “Doesn’t make sense, if we’re leaving early. Which I bet we are. You have your stuff with you, right?”

“Yes,” Kurapika says slowly. He makes a quick motion, then settles his hands back on his knees, like he was about to fidget then stopped himself. “I didn’t intend--”

“Like that matters. Listen, this works. Just stay.”

Kurapika doesn’t look away from him, but isn’t really looking at him either. It’s more like he’s unfocusing his eyes to stare somewhere past him. Finally, he says, “Thank you,” and stands, picking up his bag and jacket, slinging both over his shoulder.

“Any time,” Leorio says, then opens the door to his study. “Guest room’s here.” 

Kurapika follows him over, waits in the doorway while he puts the bundle of sheets, towels, and pillow on the desk before going to fold out the cot. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“I appreciate it.” Kurapika steps past him to set his bag on the bed, begins searching through it.

Leorio hesitates, then says, “I’m glad you made it back.”

Kurapika considers him, then returns to rummaging through his bag. “Thank you. Again.” He pulls out a phone charger, then looks over the pile of bedding on the desk. “I can take care of the rest.”

That’s it, then. 

“Sure,” Leorio says, and retreats to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He has some emails to finish writing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this chapter aside from overall work tags
> 
> Y'alls comments so cute, I'm blushing (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ I'm not so good at responding, but I do read every one <3 Thanks for being along for this ride! Traveling later today, so early update.
> 
> Updates Friday evenings, EST

The sun still hasn’t even risen when there’s a knock on his door. By the time he stumbles out, knuckling his eyes, Kurapika is already sitting on his couch, fully dressed and waiting.

Leorio squints at him, still groggy, then manages, “Want breakfast?”

“There’s coffee on the counter.”

“That’s not breakfast,” he mutters, though really, Kurapika’s right. He’s had less before booking it to class. “Gimme a sec.”

He staggers back to his room, then attached bathroom to brush his teeth, splash some water on his face, try to get his hair into some semblance of order. He squints at himself in the mirror, rubs his jaw; it’d probably take too long to shave now, so he packs a razor along with his toothbrush, crams his toiletries into his bag, and goes to get dressed.

No sense in dressing up, so he just pulls on the first T-shirt and pants he can reach. Not exactly ideal, but he looks presentable, even if he doesn’t feel it. He sighs, then picks up his bag and drags it out to the living room, where Kurapika is still waiting, somehow more tightly wound than before, though it doesn’t look like he’s moved at all.

“All right,” Leorio says, pulling on his jacket before heaving his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

He shuts off the lights at the door, looks back at his apartment. Everything seems to be in order, but it’s hard not to feel uneasy. Sighing, Leorio shuts the door. Meanwhile, Kurapika has stopped halfway down the hallway, watching him expectantly. Leorio scrubs a hand over his face and follows Kurapika to the elevator.

“My god, this is past red-eye,” he says, suppressing a yawn as they exit the lobby. The sun’s barely over the horizon. “You really don’t mess around.”

Kurapika tenses, but doesn’t respond. It’s a testier silence than usual, which is saying something, and-- oh no.

“I’m so sorry--”

“Don’t.”

They go a few blocks before Kurapika flags down a taxi, leaning forward to give the driver the address, then settles back against the seat without looking restful at all, arms folded and expression going stony and distant.

The taxi lets them out at an open air market three districts over, bustling even at this time of day, or maybe because it’s this time of day, and Kurapika wades right into the crowd without hesitation. Leorio wades after, and immediately feels out of place.

He ducks a stall awning to keep it from clocking his forehead, then nearly gets taken out by a gaggle of some grandma-looking figures impatiently pushing past him, bickering all the while. Someone moving in a different direction steps on his foot, and his bag gets jostled approximately three times for each step he takes.

“Where are we going?” Leorio says when they’re stalled in the middle of a crossroads, nothing but grannies and sharp-eyed kitchen staff in all directions.

“We’re meeting a driver,” Kurapika says, then finds an opening and presses through.

Leorio tries to follow, but he’s kind of an outlier here, gets pushed back and nearly loses him before a hand reaches back to grab his wrist and yank him forward. Kurapika tows him along until they get to a spot where the crowd thins. Still a little packed, but Kurapika drops his wrist and it’s easier to follow now, if still annoying.

“Why is mafia bullshit the most complicated bullshit?” Leorio demands as someone elbows him again, apparently deciding he is fair game. He shoots a glare in their general direction. He gets it! He’s tall!

Kurapika glances over his shoulder at him and looks for one instant like he might laugh. Then his face closes over again and he turns back, keeps pushing forward through the crowd.

Leorio trails after, suddenly tired again. Almost.

Ten minutes later, they emerge on a different side of the market, and Leorio tries to get his bearings. He doesn’t remember being in this part of the city before. Meanwhile, Kurapika walks without hesitation to a street corner, where a car has pulled up to the curb.

“You’re early,” he says to the driver, opening the door and gesturing Leorio in before following.

“Don’t like to make the boss wait,” the driver replies through the glass, then glances back. “Buckle up.”

Leorio snorts, and Kurapika shoots him a glare, but buckles his seatbelt. The ride is smooth and even compared to the taxi before, merges and turns done with hardly a jolt. Guess organized crime would have the best drivers. Leorio glowers out the window and regrets leaving the coffee behind.

Wait. He frowns to himself, then leans over to mutter to Kurapika, “Did I empty out the coffeepot?”

“I took care of it,” Kurapika says, not looking away from the window.

_“When?”_

“You were packing.”

“What if I’d wanted some after?”

Without a word, Kurapika reaches into his bag and passes Leorio a thermos, then sits back and returns to looking out the window. Leorio stares after him, jaw slack. Hard to decide whether to be grateful or annoyed. It’s… nice of Kurapika, really. But still obnoxious.

“Thanks,” he manages, then scowls down at the thermos. His own damn thermos. From his own damn kitchen.

“You’re welcome.”

Without a word or glance in the rearview mirror, the driver turns the radio on low. It stays quiet until they pull up to a small private terminal outside of the city. Or at least he thinks it’s small. Leorio squints at it through the tinted window. Hard to tell. Even the little ones take up so much space.

Kurapika gets out first, then pauses near the driver side window. The driver rolls it down and glances out, wary but doing a good job of hiding it. “Boss?”

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

The poor woman looks confused for an instant, then just nods. The best option, really. “Sure thing, Boss.”

Kurapika turns away, says to Leorio, “Let’s go,” without looking as he brushes past. Leorio rolls his eyes, but follows.

In the hangar, there’s an assortment of serious-looking people in suits, who all turn to look at Kurapika as he approaches.

“Hey, Boss,” one of the smaller ones says. He’s got a puffy bowl-cut, and a pretty good handle on Gyo. Probably one of the Hunters in the foundation.

“Not for a while now,” Kurapika says, sounding almost amused. “Everything going well?”

Bowl-cut shrugs. “Same as usual. New boss isn’t so bad.”

“It’s been over a year. I’m sure they’re settling in nicely.”

“Yeah, well. It’s just not the same.”

“Why should it be?” Kurapika says, tone still off-hand, nearly nonchalant.

Leorio inadvertently makes eye-contact with Bowl-cut, and they both quickly look away. The conversation’s over. Bowl-cut doesn’t try again, just says, “Mr. Nostrade says to let him know if there’s anything else you need. Anything at all.”

Leorio swallows a cough, keeps his gaze fixed blandly on the far wall. It’s like a cheesy movie. Kurapika doesn’t seem to notice, but one of the bigger guys is watching him now. Oops.

“Thank you,” Kurapika’s saying, like this is a normal thing that normal people do. Hobnobbing with mob bosses. Politely accepting unknown favors that definitely won’t end badly. “Please let him know I appreciate the offer.”

Bowl-cut just nods, starts turning away, but then Kurapika holds out his right hand, and Bowl-cut stops and looks at it like it might bite him. Which is fair, honestly. But then he takes it. 

“Take care,” says Bowl-cut, looks like he means it. Doesn’t seem so bad. For a mafioso, at least.

The big guys all split up into teams of two, each heading to one of the smaller private blimps, and Bowl-cut retreats to the terminal proper. Kurapika glances back, then jerks his head towards the last unoccupied blimp. “This way.”

Leorio bristles, but follows him up the ramp anyway.

Inside, there’s a row of crates in the storage area, maybe ten, fifteen, and he only looks at them for a moment before following Kurapika up to the front. Some of the other airships are already turning slowly in place. One is beginning to rise, and Leorio glances over at Kurapika.

“It’s a staggered departure,” Kurapika says, looking over the controls. “We’re number four.”

Leorio glances around, but the ramp has already withdrawn, airship closed up tight. So it really is just them. “You know how to fly this thing?”

Kurapika looks back at him for a long moment, then turns away again and says, “Yes.” Nothing else.

It seems like it takes an abnormally long time for the two others to leave and their own blimp to rise, but it’s probably just his nerves. Leorio leans back on the bench, and dozes off.

He sleeps in starts and stops, ends up lying down on half the bench while Kurapika doesn’t ever stop making a slow anxious circuit from storage area to controls to window and back. Or at least, he’s always pacing when Leorio’s awake, only stops to grudgingly eat a cup of instant noodles from the provided snack bar.

Could be worse, Leorio figures. He has a textbook and his notes, ends up distractedly thumbing through them until Kurapika goes to the controls again and begins guiding the blimp down. Leorio turns to watch, textbook open in his lap for plausible deniability. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Kurapika, who’s always been able to back up his bragging, but like. It’s a blimp. They have professionals who fly these things. He learned on the go, and it was nerve-wracking and awful and he’s glad to not have to do it again.

Unlike the also nerve-wracking and awful experience of watching Kurapika land a blimp, which he will almost definitely have to do again. Unless they can take a commercial airliner back. No, that would leave this blimp just hanging around as a loose end, and Kurapika hates loose ends. Unless his mob buddies are taking care of it?

Leorio sighs and leans his head back. Honestly, it isn’t even his problem. Kurapika said he’d taken care of it, so he probably has. All Leorio really has to do now is just wait out the rest of the docking procedures, then they can go off to wherever it is that Kurapika is dragging him off to. Could really be worse. Kurapika could’ve just never gotten back to him at all.

Worse is really, really subjective sometimes.

The blimp rattles and quakes slightly around them, and Leorio mutters, “I hate this part,” can’t even take any satisfaction from Kurapika being taken surprise for like the second time in his life and nearly falling over. It is pretty funny though. Until Leorio remembers what they’re here for. Then he just feels like a dick.

There’s noise outside, some back-and-forth on the comms, and they’re good to go in like ten. Probably more mob perks.

The door hisses open, door rattling down, and Kurapika heads right on out, doesn’t even take his bag. Leorio grabs his own, then hesitates at the ramp. “You want me to stay, or something?”

“No,” Kurapika says, looking over their cargo, then continuing down the ramp. “They’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

Kurapika stops, then turns to fix an unwavering stare on him. “They will be fine,” he repeats, clipped and harsh. “Or I will know why.”

There’s a slight glow around the edges of the contacts. Easy to tell for someone who knows where to look, not so hard for someone who doesn’t.

“Okay,” Leorio says, shrugs his free shoulder. “I believe you.”

There’s a shuttle from the airship to the city, and they get off at the outskirts, in some lowkey market district. Leorio glances at the stalls lining wide streets, busy with foot traffic, then gauges the rest of the buildings. Older style, nowhere near as high as anything in Yorknew, but busy. Looks like some newer development further ahead, a few sprinkled into older, dustier looking neighborhoods. There’s still farmland in the distance, not too far off. It’s kind of a hick city. He should know.

He trails after Kurapika, who is periodically checking a small paper map, marked with a specific location.

“You know they have apps for that,” Leorio says, coming up alongside him. He has longer legs; it doesn’t make any sense how Kurapika’s managing to outpace him.

Kurapika just makes a soft scornful noise, then glances at an intersection and turns left. There are food stalls down this street, half lush fruit for really good prices, and half some frying things that smell amazing right about now. Kurapika just keeps walking, gaze skating along the walls and signs for some sort of landmark before dropping back to the map.

Leorio sighs. “You want me to find it?”

“It’s fine,” Kurapika says. He folds the map and stows it away in a pocket without slowing down. “I turned my phone off for the time being.”

“Big surprise,” Leorio mutters. “Listen, just tell me what you’re looking for--”

“We’re nearly there.”

“Okay, but _where?”_

“Transportation first," Kurapika says mildly. “Then a store. I arranged provisions before we landed. All we need to do is pick them up.” Then he smiles bitterly to himself. “You were right. Money can buy anything.”

“Kurapika.”

Kurapika glances back at him, smile gone. “It was just a joke.”

“Your sense of humor is awful,” Leorio tells him, and he just rolls his eyes, keeps walking. 

There’s another left turn, and another small side-street, frying smells fading behind them. Kurapika is slowing down and there’s some sort of weird farm noise or something and it’s starting to smell a little funnier.

Then the farm noise gets much louder, and Leorio stops dead in his tracks.

_“This_ is a joke. Right?” he says.

Kurapika doesn’t reply, instead heads right over to the fenced-in structure plunked smack in the alley and covered by an awning, part of the stable built right into the building. There’s hay, and a bored-looking vendor behind a table, and also a gaggle of gigantic chicken-bird-ducks hanging out inside the fence. They’re… enormous.

Kurapika goes to look some birds over like this is business as usual. Leorio follows after, and a giant chicken pokes its head right over the fence and tries to bite him.

He hastily backs away, and Kurapika eyes him with faint disapproval before heading over to the table. 

“Hundred thou for a day, six fifty for a week,” the vendor drones.

“I would like eight birds for an extended visit,” Kurapika says. “May I see your rental policies?”

“Sure, sure,” the vendor says, reaching into a drawer and handing over a small stack. “Best birds in the city, and you won’t find--”

“That won’t be necessary,” Kurapika says, already beginning to read, doesn’t look like he intends to skip any pages.

The vendor has the glassy look of a man settling himself in for a long wait. Kurapika reads fast, though. Shouldn’t be a problem unless he decides to take issue with one of the clauses. Leorio considers, then goes to take a look at the birds again. This could take a while.

They’re not any more appealing up close, all big beady eyes and wobbly neck-things and some weird… funky… chicken smell. Probably chicken shit. Most are milling around towards the back, but one saunters up to the fence right up in front of him and gurgles.

“Nice chicken,” he says carefully.

It clucks back at him, then at another bird that comes up to join it. They cluck at each other, heads jerking, wobbly neck-things flopping around. It’s like they’re actually talking to each other, which is kinda cute. He grins, hands in his pockets as he watches them.

Then the first one jabs him right in the arm with its beak. He yells, and narrowly dodges the second one following right after.

“Why do they keep trying to bite me?!” he demands, rubbing his shoulder and sidling away.

“They just like you, mister. That’s how they’re being friendly.”

Leorio eyes the first chicken. It eyes him back, makes a little gurgle deep in its throat. “You have got to be kidding me,” he says.

“He is,” Kurapika replies absently, looking over their new ‘friends,’ then reaches into a pocket and settles a small stack of jenny on the counter. “This is for two weeks.”

“Hang on now,” Leorio says, leaning in and taking Kurapika by the elbow to pull him aside. The vendor pushes back from the table and disappears inside. Kurapika lets himself be pulled, but only a few steps where he plants his feet and gazes balefully up at Leorio, who hisses, “Two weeks? Really?”

“As a form of insurance,” Kurapika says. “I don’t expect to be gone that long. The excess can be picked up when they’re returned.”

He pauses, then adds pointedly, “It’s standard practice.”

He’s such a smug _prick_ sometimes. Leorio stares down at him, then says, “Fine,” and releases him, straightening. 

Kurapika doesn’t say a thing, just adjusts his sleeve and brushes off his elbow before turning back to the table. When the vendor reappears from a side door a string of chickens and a folded paper tucked into his belt, Kurapika says, “Is there anything else I should sign?”

“Not at all. Here’s a copy for you, and we’ll be seeing you back in two weeks. Happy travels.”

Leorio tenses, takes a step forward, but Kurapika doesn’t even try to smile. Instead he just takes the reins of the front chicken and begins leading them away. “Let’s go.”

Thankfully, getting the supplies is less of an ordeal. All Leorio has to do is wait outside with the birds and keep them from biting either him or someone else, and after a few minutes, Kurapika re-emerges from the department store with a hassled-looking worker wheeling a cart. 

“I can take care of loading,” Kurapika says. “Take the shuttle back, and I’ll meet you there.”

“I don’t know,” Leorio says, frowning. Like splitting the party ever works.

“It’ll be fine,” Kurapika says, already waving away the store attendant. “Trust me.”

Despite his better instincts, Leorio does. He’s not even really sure why he bothered when he steps off and Kurapika’s waiting there at the terminal, string of chickens in hand, supplies neatly loaded. Would’ve been even faster with two loading, but okay. Leorio gestures at him, says flatly, “What.”

“It took less time than I anticipated,” Kurapika says, though there’s something furtive about it. Nearly three years in the mob and still a shitty liar. Leorio sighs, and follows him in.

The terminal staff are all very calm about the string of giant chickens they lead in, and Leorio suspects they’ve been notified in advance. Maybe paid in advance, too. He glances at them from the corners of his eyes, wonders how many are in some way connected to Nostrade.

Probably more than a few, he decides when they come across three people in staff uniforms unloading the airship. When he squints, two of them have active Gyo, and the one at the bottom of the ramp is nonchalant in that hired muscle kind of way, where they’re a little _too_ good at it.

“I’ll take it from here,” Kurapika says to them, handing Leorio the chicken leashes. Leorio manages to close his hand around them before it’s too late, then moves to keep a healthy distance between him and the lead bird. It scuffles after him, rest of the birds following, and he turns to keep an eye on it.

“They’ll be more unmanageable if you show you’re afraid,” Kurapika informs him over his shoulder, voice low. 

“Do they know how well they’d go with a side of fries?” Leorio hisses back. “They should be afraid of _me.”_

“Anything else you need?” one of the Gyo-users asks, and Kurapika shakes his head.

“This is sufficient. Thank you.”

The flunkeys troop out, one of them casting a last glance over her shoulder, and Leorio waits until the door shuts behind him before he holds up the chicken leashes and says, “So what do I do with these?”

“Tie them somewhere nearby,” Kurapika says, all his attention fixed on the small stack of crates by the ramp.

Leorio glances around the hangar. Not too many bird-friendly places, really. He settles for the ramp railing, tests the knot a few times to make sure it’ll hold, then glances back at Kurapika, who is picking up the crowbar left on top of the crates. He probably doesn’t need it, but uses it to pop the top off anyway, working from one corner to the next. 

“Connections everywhere, huh?” Leorio says. “Useful.”

Kurapika just shrugs, then lays the crate lid on the floor. Inside is an assortment of jars, weirdly familiar-looking metal lids, like the ones they use for specimens, and he really shouldn’t be surprised. They’re meticulously packed, wrapped and padded to ensure that they won’t get jostled around during transport, still easy to see and count and remove.

“Is this what you were doing before you found me?”

“Some,” Kurapika says absently, leaning to count them over, crowbar still in his hand. “Time was of the essence. I delegated the rest.”

“Well, that’s not like you at all.”

Kurapika glances up at him, then back down. Carefully, he sets the crowbar aside and reaches into the box.

“So a lot of help from Nostrade?”

“Not necessarily,” Kurapika says, holding up a jar, briefly lifting the wrapping to look at the contents. 

Leorio turns aside to hide his grimace. If Kurapika’s family was anything like him, then their eyes never changed for any old thing. It’d be extreme emotions, some kind of excitement. Almost always anger, in Kurapika’s case.

He doesn’t want to know how the Troupe got these colors.

When he turns back, Kurapika is looking at him, eyes dark behind his contact lenses. “Would you mind getting the rest?”

“Sure.” Leorio retrieves the dolly, drags it up the ramp behind him. Two boxes at a time seems safe enough, and he wheels them down carefully as Kurapika does a terrible job of pretending he’s not watching him like a hawk the entire time.

It’s pretty easy. By the time Leorio’s done unloading the airship, Kurapika’s just finished sorting out the first box, loading them into side-pouches all along the bird-saddles. He settles each jar in carefully, making sure they’re wrapped and secure. Leorio goes and gets their bags for good measure. Hard to imagine this is all Kurapika wanted him for.

Leorio sets their bags down near the chickens, then leans on the side of the ramp opposite the birds. “Need help?”

“Just keep watch.” 

Not much to watch out for, honestly. The undercover ‘staff’ probably has it covered. For the better part of an hour, no one comes in or out, and before long, Kurapika makes a final adjustment and says, “Done.”

“So how are we doing this?” Leorio says, straightening and eyeing the birds.

Kurapika brings the birds away from the railing, and separates one out to hand over to Leorio. Then he checks the knots that hitch them all together again, and says, “I’ll take the front. You take the back.” 

And just like that, he hoists himself into the lead bird’s saddle like some kind of television stuntman and says, “Get on.”

Easier said than done. Leorio looks up at his bird, then looks over at the saddle. At least it’s not impossible… Kurapika just did it….

He gets a foot in a stirrup, then can’t figure out where to grab. He’s unbalanced and the bird is wiggly, and the saddle is stupid, and Kurapika is definitely watching him make an idiot of himself. He sneaks a glance, and Kurapika is looking at his phone, frowning at something. Sure, now he can use a phone. Leorio grumbles, and Kurapika glances up, face freezing. Then he says faintly, “Oh.”

“Little help?”

“Really, what kind of Hunter are you?” Kurapika says, but it’s barely even half-hearted.

“A too old for this kind of Hunter.”

“We’re quite young for the profession, all things considered.”

“Shut up or be helpful.”

Kurapika mutters something under his breath that sounds something like, “Take your own medicine,” but he gets off his bird and comes over to inspect the situation.

“You’re nearly there,” he says, frowning. “Just switch your feet. Haven’t you ever gone over a fence?”

Leorio scowls at him. “It’s a _bird.”_

“It’s the same principle.”

Leorio groans, then glares at the saddle while he figures out what part is safe to grab. Not the bird, definitely. Probably the handle thing, but it looks too smooth and he doesn’t trust it. The seat is… not gonna do it, even if his hands are sweaty enough to stick.

“Just step down and try again,” Kurapika says, already walking away, and Leorio gets his feet tangled in the dangly footrest trying to stomp after him, because he’s being a little shit. 

He latches onto the saddle to keep from winding up head-first on the floor, and the chicken squawks at him, starts dancing around like he’s a pest it’s trying to shake off, which is… fair. He manages somehow, despite being bounced around. Probably out of self-preservation, because it’s either get on the chicken or be trampled by the chicken, and it’s not hard to decide which he prefers.

“I bet I look ridiculous,” he grumbles, knees hitched high and splayed as he gingerly reaches for the giant chicken’s reins.

“No bet,” Kurapika says in front of him, not even glancing back.

“Hey!”

The chicken hops at that, feathers ruffling as it bounces from foot to foot, head twitching nearly all the way around to survey him with one bright beady eye.

“No,” he says, glaring at it. _“No.”_

It grumbles, jerks its head forward when he gives the reins a shake, then thankfully follows after the rest of the birds and Kurapika. They hardly bat an eye at the airships, and Kurapika glances up, then leads them all around the outskirts of the city, heading towards the mountains in the distance. Leorio figures all he really needs to do is keep pace, and jostles his bird to keep up.

It’s not the worst way to travel, but it is pretty bad. The chickens rock from side-to-side as they run, and he’s sure the bruise on his tailbone is going to be permanent by the time he finally figures out the rhythm. Kurapika, on the other hand, seems perfectly fine. A real pro. Leorio glares at his back, resigns himself to an absolutely terrible ride.

Hours pass, and it’s honestly the worst. His ass hurts. His tailbone’s bruised. Probably he has blisters on top of blisters. He has some serious questions to raise about his dedication to this entire little jaunt. But it’s for Kurapika’s family, so he mostly manages to keep his mouth shut, even when he nearly falls over the third time they take a break, roughly every two hours.

He stamps his feet, then stretches out his back, grumbling. “How about lunch?” he says.

Kurapika just tosses him a protein bar that he nearly doesn’t catch. It’s the worst flavor too, some gritty fake peanut butter bullshit. He tears into it, then goes to find his water bottle.

“What about you?” he says, trying to work some of the grit out of his mouth.

“I’ll eat as we go,” Kurapika says. “Are you ready?”

“Five more minutes.”

Kurapika doesn’t say anything, just goes to wait silently by his bird, but he’s stock-still and way too calm.

“Hey,” Leorio says. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

Sure he is. “You think we’re close?”

“Nearly halfway.”

Leorio crams the last of the bar in his mouth, takes another drink of water. Mob bosses, high-stakes black market deals, getting lost in the jungle in the middle of nowhere. It’s always something with this guy. “All right, then.”

They stop again after another two hours, and Leorio rolls out his shoulders and says, “Are we there yet?” It’s hot out. He’s sweating. These birds suck. Sure, he’s been through worse, but it’s not like he ever expected a repeat.

“Nearly,” Kurapika says.

“‘Nearly’ like three hours ago nearly, or ‘nearly’ like fifteen minutes nearly?”

“I said ‘nearly,’ and I meant ‘nearly,’” Kurapika snaps at him.

_“Yikes,”_ Leorio says, holding his hands up in front of him. “Okay.”

“I am sorry,” Kurapika says through clenched teeth.

“No, my bad. I was just--” He doesn’t know what he was doing. Well, he was pissed, but Kurapika was… “You doing okay?”

_“No.”_

“You need--”

“Be. Quiet.”

Yeah, not really what he’s going for. He puts his hands in his pockets, then eyes Kurapika, who is almost one hundred percent definitely lost. He says quietly, “Any landmarks?”

“There’s a mountain with--” Kurapika begins, then stops, frustrated. "A mountain with a split. The cleft. It’s around here. I _know_ it’s around here.”

Leorio considers his phone, but honestly, it might just be useless out here. “Is it on a map?”

“I don’t _know,”_ Kurapika snaps, then drags one hand over his face, inhaling deep and slow. “I am sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Leorio tells him, then, “Drink some water, it’s hot out here.”

“Not thirsty.”

“I’m gonna leave you here if you get heatstroke.”

_“Good,”_ Kurapika snaps, then stomps off and literally just. Flings himself up a tree to avoid further conversation. Classic.

Leorio considers the tree, then goes to search for another protein bar. Not worth it. Kurapika climbs too far and too fast and would just be too pissed to reason with if he went after him.

He rummages, then frowns. Like half the bars in the bags are the peanut butter flavor. Leorio grimaces, then takes another one to eat anyway, just to get rid of them a little faster. He gives up halfway through his third when there’s a rustle and Kurapika slithers down out of the foliage, calm again, or at least not about to pick another fight any time soon.

“There’s water in the distance,” is all he says, then he just mounts up. He doesn’t eat anything else, but at least he takes a swig of water and waits for Leorio to get back on the bird before heading off.

It’s really all just forest. If there are landmarks, they’re hard to see and even harder to remember. Trees just look like trees, mostly, though there is kind of a big rock formation a little bit back. More keep cropping up, though, so that’s not really helpful. Things are green. There are bugs.

The air gradually dampens, just a little more, and there’s something like a whispering in the trees. Leorio tenses, but Kurapika heads towards it as it grows louder and louder and isn’t whispering at all, but running water. Kurapika stops when it sounds like they’re nearly right on top of it, and Leorio tries to rein his bird in, but it just goes to join the rest of its buddies at the very end of the line. That works fine. He’s not sure he could’ve gotten it to stop right on the mark.

Which seems kind of necessary, since they’re right on the edge of a steep drop down to a river. The undergrowth covers the edge, makes it look like there’s more undergrowth past it, which is a fucking horrible thing for nature to do. Sneaky, really.

Leorio glances over the edge, then makes a face. It’s a survivable drop. Minimal injuries, even. Just still not something anyone wants to do on accident or by surprise. Especially not with fragile cargo.

He glances at Kurapika, who’s staring down at the water, gaze flicking deeper into the forest as he tracks its course. 

“I know this river,” he says, then kicks his bird into a trot.

From there, it’s not far at all. Seems like Kurapika has something specific in mind, and he’s guiding the birds past a huge stone outcropping, pushing past little shrubs and bigger shrubs, until he gets to a clearing.

It wouldn’t seem like much normally, but Kurapika dismounts without hesitation. He leads the gaggle of birds over to a weird-looking tree, then ties the lead bird to it before going to deal with the rest. Leorio manages to slither off his own bird without tripping over it or himself in the process, and it shakes itself and makes a sound very much like a sigh.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a fan either,” Leorio informs it, then goes to tie it next to Kurapika’s.

“Remove the saddle,” Kurapika says, already undoing some buckles, then adds, _“Slowly.”_

“Obviously,” he says, annoyed. His bird pecks him when he reaches for a strap, backs off when Kurapika hisses at it, frowning.

“Thanks,” Leorio says, but Kurapika has already returned to unloading his birds. Leorio manages to undo the straps, one hand on the saddle to keep it steady. Once he gets a hand on both ends of the saddle, he pauses. Can’t lift it high enough to clear the chicken, and if he pulled, something would probably get snagged on a wing. How did--

“Whoa!” he says, keeps hold of the saddle and its cargo as the bird clucks and settles itself onto the ground.

“They’re trained,” Kurapika says, much too late. “Just bring the saddle back slowly, and it will stay until you’re done.”

“Thanks for the tip,” he says, tries not to sound grudging.

Kurapika unsaddles six to his two, points out the little bag of dust tucked away in a pouch to the rear of each saddle. Apparently, the birds need extra grooming, since the saddle musses their feathers.

“They’re birds,” Leorio says, squinting into the bag, then gingerly shaking some onto the nearest chicken. “Don’t they like. Clean themselves? Like cats?”

“We have asked them to undertake a burden for us,” Kurapika says, words weirdly formal, like he’s reciting an oath. “It’s only right we tend to their needs.”

Then he adds, back to his usual lecture voice, “Remove any bent feathers, if you can. They can rub the wrong way and cause sores.”

“If you say so,” Leorio mutters, patting over his bird’s back. Doesn’t seem to be much out of place, but it wriggles and puffs and unpuffs. Most important, it doesn’t try to bite him again, so he must be doing something right. 

He shakes some dust onto its back, pats it down as it gurgles back at him. “There you go,” he says, smoothing its feathers down again. “Guess you aren’t so bad after all.”

It clonks him on the top of the head with its bill, still gurgling. Then it tries to eat his hair.

“Quit it!” he snaps, retreating. He doesn’t know where Kurapika’s gone off to, tries to reshape his hair as he scans the area and complains, “I take it back, these feathery assholes are still the worst.”

Kurapika is standing at the edge of the clearing, and doesn’t respond, instead staring off into the trees with his hands clenched into fists. He’s got a bag slung over his shoulder, not the one he had when he arrived at the apartment, something new and probably from the store. Leorio comes up beside him and says quietly, “You okay?”

“No,” Kurapika says, then shakes his head, small and tight, and says instead, “Yes,” then, “I will be.”

He’s never been good at lying. “You don’t have to be,” Leorio says, shrugging. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, puts them in his pockets.

Kurapika just inhales slowly, then says, voice low, “Please give me some time.”

“Sure. How long?”

“Maybe… twenty minutes.”

“I can wait a little longer,” Leorio says, but Kurapika tenses and says, “I can’t.”

“Okay,” Leorio says, when there’s no follow-up. Weird thing to say, but there’s been weirder. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

Kurapika looks up at him, mouth tight, eyes wide and unreadable. Then he says quietly, “Twenty minutes,” and walks away into the forest. 

Leorio turns his phone back on and sets a timer. Pretty decent signal out here, though he didn’t see any towers as they approached. Probably just wasn’t looking. 

He reads the subject line and preview of a few emails, then decides to ignore them. He scrolls through the rest of his inbox, far away from the birds, just to make sure he’s not missing anything that’s actually urgent, checks through the news. Someone’s football team won, but not his, so he doesn’t care. That team usually wins anyway, and honestly it’s just annoying at this point; he’d root against them on principle.

He should probably save his battery, though. After the twenty minutes are up, maybe. Should’ve worn his watch. He sets a timer and walks laps around the clearing, stretching out after hours of sitting on those damn birds.

“Better ways to get a pounding,” he grumbles, stretching out his lower back. “Useless six piece chicken McNobodies.” One of the birds looks up at him, and he scowls at it. “Yeah, I’m talking to you!”

It gobbles, and he flaps his hands at it. “Go back to doing your dumb bird things, you nuisance!”

Look at him. Not even five minutes and already talking to the chickens. He sighs and stretches again. Not much to do out here really, especially not in twenty minutes. Maybe power-nap. He takes a drink from his water bottle, then squints dubiously at the ground. Probably crawling with some horrible bugs or some shit, ready to bite the fuck out of anyone lying down. Better not risk it.

He ends up taking a seat instead, leaning back against a tree on the far side of the clearing. Didn’t think he’d want to sit any longer, but it’s a relief to be sitting on something that isn’t moving. Going back is gonna be, well. A pain in the ass. 

Leorio sighs, and rubs his eyes. Stupid. The joke really was right there, though. The day’s warm and the insects are droning and some other, hopefully smaller birds are cawing at each other, and it should be relaxing, but it all just puts him on edge. He checks his email again, and someone in his class sends him a text, _fuck,_ he forgot they were gonna do a study session, but nothing he can do about it now.

Shutting his eyes doesn’t help, it just makes him feel vulnerable. He doesn’t really trust the giant chickens to not be in cahoots, no matter how much Kurapika seems to like them. Or at least tolerate them. He’s never really sure if Kurapika likes anything. Gon, probably. Books. Killua sometimes, or at least they manage to get along. Melody, he thinks, or Kurapika will actually talk to her, which is basically the same thing. He sighs again and checks his phone.

Only eight minutes have passed. 

He groans and thunks his head back against the tree. The waiting has always been the worst. Kurapika’s too sharp for his own good; the shit he gets up to is outrageous. Not like anyone can hold him back, though. Even if someone could, not like he’d ever forgive them for it.

Leorio sighs again. He should have more games on his phone, so he wouldn’t have to think of depressing shit. It’d take too much data to download a new one, even if there was one that seemed like it was worth the overage fee. Not really an issue now, but some old habits are hard to break.

He checks his phone again, then gives up and heads after Kurapika.

He has a vague idea of where to go. Kurapika’s the only one around for miles with any sort of aura, though he still has to focus to use his ‘En,’ and his range could be better. This magic stuff is hard.

He pushes through the undergrowth, reminding himself to check for ticks later. Jungle stuff can get pretty bad. Should they have gotten some vaccinations before they left? Did Kurapika include medicine in the supplies? He’s pretty smart, but he can get careless about this stuff.

There’s a patch of faded color in the distance. Leorio frowns and heads for it. It’s a kind of pale sooty gray that’s out of place between the leaves and trees and sky. Distracted, Leorio nearly trips over a root hidden beneath some bushes, and stumbles into the remains of a village. 

He stays where he is, hands out, head turning slowly to survey the area. All quiet, no signs of movement, and only one sign of life. Feels creepy still, somehow. There was some word in a ghost story someone told once. Like being watched, or always hearing a murmur that isn’t really there. Unquiet.

He suppresses a shiver, despite the warmth of the day, and heads towards the presence further into the village.

Kurapika is standing in front of a ruined doorway, rest of the house in shambles. Part of the roof has caved in, and one wall has broken down completely. Vines are climbing up the walls, and all the windows have long since been broken.

“This is where I lived.”

For a moment, he sounds almost like himself again. Or maybe just more like how he was during the Hunter exam, years ago. Feels even farther away now.

“Yeah?” Leorio says, tries not to feel like he should be looking around for someone or something else.

Kurapika nods once, hand on the doorframe. “There was-- There was more when we were here. I’m not sure where it all is now. Some museums somewhere, maybe. Or a university. Maybe even one in Yorknew.”

“Ever think about finding some?’

Kurapika sways slightly, then steps forward into his old home. Quietly, he says, “What would be the point?”

Leorio comes up next to him. “I don't know. You don't carry a lot, but it might be nice to have something of theirs. Do you even have anything?”

“Papers.”

Leorio grimaces, shoulders hunching. He’d woken up in the middle of the night once at Killua’s house, or Killua’s butlers’ house, to find Kurapika awake, cross-legged with a folder in his lap, penlight tucked behind his ear and papers in his hands.

“What’s that?” he’d said quietly, and Kurapika had just looked at him, then wordlessly passed a photo over.

He shouldn’t have asked. 

When he’d handed it back, Kurapika wouldn’t look at him again, just said, "You don’t want to see the rest,” before putting them away carefully and getting back into bed, calm as anything, eyes livid. Crime scene photos and reports he shouldn't have had, newspaper clippings collected in plastic sheets.

It had taken Leorio another two hours to get back to sleep.

He chafes his arms, scowling. “The hell are you still doing with those? Get rid of them!”

“No.”

“You sure that’s what you want to be keeping?”

“They’re all I have.” After a moment, Kurapika says slowly, “We… didn’t have pictures, really.”

“So,” Leorio says, then stops. What does he still have from Pietro?

Some snapshots, a deflated ball, a weird-looking rock, some soccer cards, one old figurine with a broken foot that neither of them could bear to throw away. He has one of the cards--the best one--in the top drawer of his desk, rest tucked away somewhere safe in his parents’ house.

What does Kurapika have? A stash of stolen police files and clothes he’s either ruined or outgrown. He sets his jaw and blinks hard, but then his nose starts running. In hindsight, not packing tissues was probably a bad idea.

Kurapika glances back at him, dry-eyed. “What are _you_ crying for?”

“Nothing,” he says, straightening and turning away. “No reason.” He folds his arms together. “It’s uh. It’s cold in here. Isn’t it? I’m cold. I’m going to sit outside for a little.”

“Go ahead.”

Outside is better, for a moment. Leorio finds a patch of sunny grass and sits, legs folded up, forehead to his knees. He packed a light jacket just in case, doesn’t feel like going back to fish it out of his bag now. Ridiculous, really. Just a few more minutes in the sun and he’ll be fine. A few minutes later, he chafes his arms and straightens, rubbing his face before leaning back to take a look around.

Everything must have been softened by weather and the years, but there are still signs. A hole and a broken windowsill that aren’t easy to explain. Bullet holes, faded, waist-height. Kurapika’s house didn’t have a door, and it’s not the only one. Then there are the gaps where there just aren’t houses at all anymore.

It’s not too long before Kurapika approaches, then crouches beside him in the grass. It’d be better if he sat, and also if he’d just move a little closer. Leorio keeps his gaze fixed on the ground.

Kurapika exhales, then says, “I shouldn’t have come back. I’ll only remember it like this now.”

Leorio glances up, but Kurapika is looking out over the village. “Well. What was it like before?”

“There was more furniture,” Kurapika says flatly. “And my parents were alive.”

Nothing to salvage here. He tries again. “You scared?”

“Of what?”

“That you’ll forget what they looked like. I’d be scared.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Yeah,” he says, already exhausted down to his bones. “You’re never afraid, are you.”

Kurapika inhales sharply, soft and fast. After a while, he says, “That’s not true.”

“Mm.” Leorio’s watching the treeline, though there hasn’t been anything even remotely close to large movement this entire time. He glances over. “You look like either of your parents?”

“Like my mother,” Kurapika says, smiling a little, face drawn tight. “That’s what everyone said. But when I look in the mirror, I can’t see her at all.”

Leorio rubs his hands over his eyes. He’s getting a headache. His chest hurts. He wonders if they brought enough water. There should be water, at least, though he’d want to check the wells before using them if they can’t find any running; no telling what the Phantom Troupe might have done, way back when. God, he’s thinking like Kurapika now.

He glances over at Kurapika, then reaches to put a hand on his shoulder.

Kurapika tenses and moves aside. “Don’t.”

Leorio pulls his hand back, then looks away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Kurapika says, like it hurts him. “Don’t.”

Leorio stays where he is, doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. They sit in silence, even when Leorio’s foot starts falling asleep and he considers getting up, shaking it out. Kurapika might not care. Or it could be the last straw for… whatever reason. Better not to risk it.

“Well,” Kurapika says at last, then levers himself up. “Let’s get moving then.”

“Anywhere in particular, or…?”

Kurapika just glances back at him and starts walking. Leorio follows him through half the village. They turn right between two severely damaged houses, both structures almost entirely collapsed, then walk further into the forest. Doesn’t look like there ever was a path here, or if there was, it’s now completely overgrown.

“Here,” Kurapika says, stopping at a small clearing. He unslings his new bag from his shoulder, then lets it drop. “We’ll need to bring them here.”

“Sure,” Leorio says into the silence when he doesn’t continue. “Lead the way.”

They’ve already unloaded the birds, and Leorio stands eyeing the saddlebags in dismay. Carrying them won’t be easy, just from the size and shape. Kurapika stands from where he’s been digging around in a side pocket and produces four extra bags, canvas and roomy. Of course he thought of everything.

“Take these,” Kurapika says, handing him two before crouching to open the saddlebags. He carefully lifts first one wrapped jar, then another, as he loads four to a bag. Leorio follows suit, slings a bag over each shoulder, takes only one extra jar in his hands when Kurapika takes two. He figures someone should have at least one hand free.

Once they get back to the clearing, Kurapika lowers both jars and bags, then slowly begins removing jar after jar, unwrapping them and setting them side-by-side in a row. Looks like they’ve all managed to stay secure and unbroken during the journey. Leorio sets the jar in his hands down beside them, then passes one of his own bags over when Kurapika gestures. Doesn’t feel right to be handling them, and he figures Kurapika wouldn’t appreciate it. 

So he just waits while Kurapika carefully takes out jar after jar, lining them up neatly until the bag is empty, and Leorio hands him the other one. Kurapika empties that one as well, then gets up to go looking through the first bag. Almost immediately, he takes out a little shovel, more of a scooper. Guess he wouldn’t need anything larger anyway. Not a comfortable thought. Everything else in the bag is either covered with cloth, or is the cloth. Kind of a lot of it, in different textures and colors. 

Leorio glances at him and decides not to ask. Instead he says, “If you start digging, I can get the rest.”

Kurapika glances up sharply at that, looks like he’s about to argue, then stops. “I--” he says, then stops again, mouth tightening. “That might be… for the best.”

“You don’t have to,” Leorio says, but he’s shaking his head, looking out over the clearing again.

“No. You’re right. I should-- Best to get it done.”

“Or I could dig?”

“No,” Kurapika says immediately, face going stony again.

“Okay,” Leorio says, and goes.

When he comes back with the second round, Kurapika hasn’t moved, is still standing there holding the little hand-shovel. He doesn’t even look over. After a minute, Leorio starts unloading the jars carefully. Kurapika must know he’s there. If he doesn’t want to say anything, that’s his business.

He’s setting a jar down when Kurapika says, “Where should I start?”

Probably just talking to himself. Leorio lines the jar up with the rest of its buddies, and tries not to look too closely at them.

“Leorio. Where do you think I should start?”

Leorio takes the last jar out of the bag and sets it down carefully before dusting off some dirt from the bottom of the bag. “Well, I don’t know. You don’t know?”

“I’ve never had to bury anyone before!” Kurapika says sharply. His shoulders are up, hands clenched into fists. Something cracks, and he drops the little shovel, kicks it aside. “No one-- no one important. No one I cared about.”

“Yeah. Usually someone else does that, right?”

“I don’t know how to do this.” He glances once at the eyes beside him, then looks away. “I wasn’t… I don’t know.”

Not like there’s anyone else for him to ask. It’s just the two of them out here.

“Well,” Leorio says slowly, considering the ground in front of them. “I guess I’d start by digging a hole.”

Kurapika makes a small scornful noise. When Leorio looks over, he has his hands clenched so tight they’re shaking. Leorio gets up slowly, brushing the dirt from his knees, and carefully approaches.

“Kurapika,” he says, kneeling beside him to pick up the shovel and look it over. Yep, handle’s cracked. Not too bad, though. He offers it up, handle first.

Kurapika glances down at him, then turns abruptly away.

Leorio stays where he is. “Kurapika. C’mon. I know you. You came here with a plan.”

“Yes,” he says reluctantly.

“So what was it?”

Kurapika takes a breath, holds it, then lets it out slowly before settling beside Leorio. He takes the shovel and turns it over in his hands, doesn’t glance over as he says, haltingly, “My grandfather died when I was young. He was already wrapped when they brought him out, in the… what is it? The-- the fabric that lets you breathe. Linen. So I thought maybe...”

He trails off, then makes a vague folding gesture towards the bag of cloth with his empty hand. “I didn’t want to just put them in the dirt.”

“Makes sense,” Leorio says. He nearly puts an arm around Kurapika’s shoulders, then thinks better of it. “Wish I could help more.”

“You don’t have to,” Kurapika says immediately, then stabs the shovel into the dirt. He scoops out a few handfuls, then looks at the hole and the eyes. He should have gloves somewhere, in one of his bags. Whatever the eyes are floating in is nasty, probably some kind of formalin-related thing, but he should have looked into it already.

“Anything else I can do?”

“No,” Kurapika says, taking three slow paces to the right, then kneeling again. “You can go.”

He stays where he is for a moment, though he’s not sure for what. Maybe Kurapika will change his mind or something. 

Kurapika doesn’t even look up, just finishes digging his hole, then takes the jar in his hands and sits back, doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s nothing to be said. He’s obviously just waiting for Leorio to go.

“Do you--”

“No. Leave.”

Okay then. That settles it. Leorio turns and heads back to the birds. He can get the rest, but from there, Kurapika’s made it perfectly clear he’s fine on his own.

\---

It’s long since gone dark, and Kurapika is still out there, digging. Leorio finds him at the far end of the clearing, partway through another grave, electric lantern turned low and latest pair of eyes floating in their jar beside him. Creepy.

He glances at the eyes, then crouches beside Kurapika. God, it stinks out here, even in the open air. Like brain-melting chemicals and sickly-sweet rot. “Hey. It’s nearly 10. How about you give it a rest?”

“Not until I’m done.”

“You won’t do them any good by not sleeping.’

Kurapika keeps digging. “They are dead because of me.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“It is,” he says, voice tight, shoulders bunching beneath his shirt. 

“It’s not,” Leorio says firmly, but Kurapika ignores him to survey the hole, reaching in with his left hand to check the depth.

Apparently satisfied, he reaches for the jar and struggles with the top briefly before setting his jaw and twisting it open. Something prickles against Leorio’s skin, then is gone. Probably Nen. They’re not really meant to be opened, those kinds of jars.

“Are you listening to me?”

Kurapika doesn’t answer, just reaches into the jar with his bare hands to scoop out first one eye, then the other, gently sloshing them through the formalin to wash off any dirt he might’ve gotten on them. 

Leorio bites back a scream, then grabs his shoulder. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

Kurapika tries to shrug him off, then glares when it doesn’t work. “Let go.”

_“Gloves,”_ Leorio shoots back and shakes him, but not hard. Eyes are delicate. If they get fucked up, Kurapika will absolutely lose it. “Where the fuck are your _gloves?”_

“I didn’t bring any.”

_“Why the fuck--_ Okay. Okay, okay.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, gags when he forgets about the smell and tries to breathe deeply. Ugh, he can _taste_ it. “Okay. There are gloves in the first aid kit.”

“They’re too short,” Kurapika points out. 

“Then pour some of that shit out before you reach in. Look at yourself, you’re getting a rash!”

“I’ve been taking care of it.”

“With what?!”

“I have an Enhancing ability--”

_“That’s not an excuse!”_ Leorio hisses at him, then rubs his face and says, “Okay. This is the _last one._ Then you’re going to sleep, and I’m getting you gloves. Okay?”

“It’s fine,” Kurapika snaps, which is… almost definitely not actually an answer to his question.

“It’s not fine, that shit fucks you up. That shit can give you cancer.”

_“I’m taking care of it.”_

“Does your fancy fucking magic heal the rest of you?” Leorio demands. “Does it keep your brain and lungs from getting fucked up when you breathe it in? Does it like, what, _replace your telomeres so your body doesn’t go rogue?”_

“It does enough!”

“It shouldn’t have to! What is this, what are you doing? You think anyone wants you to get fucked up like this? You need ventilation! You can’t just sit here breathing this in all day!”

“I have to finish this.”

“You can finish it and not kill yourself with it! What, is this your way of saying sorry? None of this was your fault!”

“Wasn’t it,” Kurapika says, flat and venomous, and Leorio stops and looks at him. That’s-- He’s never said-- It’s easy for people who get through shit other people didn’t to blame themselves, but he’s never-- He never said anything about it before.

That’s fucked up.

“Hey. Listen. Look at me. It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” he says, voice soft and tight as he folds the eyes in a square of linen, then brocade before gently lowering them into the grave.

“I understand enough,” Leorio says, frowning at him. “Who led the Phantom Troupe here? No one. They just found it on their own.”

Kurapika goes very still, cupping a handful of dirt. His jaw works briefly, then he just turns his hand and lets it spill over the eyes, reaches to push the rest of the dirt in after it.

“Okay, fine, say you _did._ Somehow. Though you never fucking would. You didn’t make them do all those…” Leorio waves a hand ineffectually. _“Things._ You’re not responsible for the awful shit other people do.”

Almost too soft to hear, Kurapika says, “I’m responsible for this,” and pushes the last of the dirt onto the grave, patting it down gently. There’s a little notebook beside him, and he scrawls something inside it, not in a language Leorio knows. That must be better than a secret code now.

Leorio sighs, then says, “You’re not.”

“I _am,”_ Kurapika says fiercely, snapping the book shut and setting it back on the ground. 

“Like hell you are,” Leorio says, and Kurapika doesn’t even look at him, but his eyes are starting their spooky glow thing and his hands have clenched into fists. Good. Better for him to be mad than keep stewing in whatever emotional lockdown he’s got going on.

“Don’t pull your Emperor bullshit on anything,” Leorio warns, frowning. “You know it makes you sick when you do that.”

“Like I’d waste it on _you,”_ Kurapika says, vicious and low.

“The hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” Leorio says, offended despite himself. Kurapika just shudders once, then grits his teeth as he reaches to scrub at his eyes.

“Hey,” Leorio says, with a calm he doesn't know how to feel. He catches at Kurapika’s wrists, draws them away from his face. “Hey, don't do that.”

“Don't tell me what to do!” Kurapika snarls at him, eyes blazing and wrists turning sharply down, but Leorio readjusts his grip.

“I’m going to tell you what to do because you have formaldehyde on your hands and you're going to make yourself sick!” he snaps back. “Use your sleeves if you have to!”

Kurapika is staring back at him, breathing hard, lips slightly parted with a little glint of teeth behind them. Leorio tightens his grip, shakes him once. 

_“Sleeves,”_ he says again, then releases him.

Kurapika is still panting, completely pissed-off, if his eyes are anything to go by. Leorio stands, and Kurapika tracks him slowly. Not really the most comfortable situation. Nothing about this is comfortable in any way.

Leorio points at him. “You stay here,” he says. “I’ll be right back. Use the dry parts of your sleeves. Don’t touch your eyes.”

As he starts heading back to camp, he catches a motion at the corner of his eyes, wheels to find Kurapika glaring back at him, one arm raised so he can wipe his face on his upper arm. 

_“Leave,”_ Kurapika says, and he raises his hands and goes.

Kurapika hasn’t moved by the time he comes back with a water bottle, but his face is dry. Leorio crouches beside him and gestures. “Hands.”

Eyes mostly dark again, Kurapika obliges, face gone heavy and still. 

“That stuff’s poison! You’ll give yourself brain damage or cancer or worse, and I’m not burying you here with them,” he mutters, pouring a quarter of the water over his hands. “Not now, anyway. Now scrub.”

Kurapika is still for a moment, water pooled in his palms.

Leorio jostles his elbow. _“Scrub.”_

When he’s done, Leorio hands him the bottle. “Drink something. Bet you haven’t had anything all night.”

Kurapika just looks at the water like it’s betrayed him, then takes a mouthful.

“No bet, I take it,” Leorio says, and Kurapika scoffs, then thrusts the bottle back. Leorio recaps it, hands it back to him. “Hang onto it, will you? At least until you go to sleep. Also you’re done now. Time to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

“I don’t care. I’ll sit out here with you all night, if that’s what it takes, but I don’t sleep until you do.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Who’s stupid?” Leorio demands. “I haven’t seen you sleep since we left Yorknew! That was nearly two days ago!”

“Stop shouting.”

“Stop being an ass!”

“I am _not_ getting caught up in a childish competition with you!” Kurapika snaps. “This is not up for debate!”

“It really isn’t,” Leorio agrees. “Because I’m _telling you_ you’ll do better work when you sleep. Look at yourself, you’re shaking. I don’t think I’ve seen you eat anything other than a shitty protein bar like five hours ago. If you drop something and break it, that’s on you, not me.”

“I am not going to drop anything,” Kurapika says, but he’s starting to scowl. Prickly asshole hates being wrong; what else is new?

“You know when I hear that the most? Right before some dipshit drops something.”

“I am _not,”_ Kurapika bites out, “‘some dipshit.’”

“So quit acting like one,” Leorio says, and Kurapika’s eyes light up, but they both know he’s won. Scary though, for a second.

Slowly, Kurapika says, “I would hate to drop any.” Even slower, he says, “Perhaps you’re right.”

Leorio shuts his mouth before he can finish saying ‘I _am_ right.’ That would absolutely start a fight, and Kurapika’s looking for one right now. Any excuse to drag this out. 

He stands first, waits for Kurapika to get up as well before heading off towards the campsite. He takes the little electric lantern and brightens it, because last thing either of them need is a twisted ankle right now. Kurapika doesn’t drag his feet exactly, but he does go _real_ slow and turn to stare warily at Leorio over one shoulder.

Leorio flaps his free hand at him. “Go on.”

“At least walk _beside_ me,” Kurapika snaps back, shoulders hunching.

“What, you don’t trust me?” Leorio says, picking his way up until he’s just behind Kurapika’s left shoulder.

“The lighting is better this way,” Kurapika says. Fair enough.

Leorio switches the lantern to his left hand, experimentally twists the knob, but that’s about as bright as it gets. Well, they can see just fine. There’s too many bug noises though, and like a jillion of them keep swarming into the light. Some of them are pretty big, too. Swatting them away doesn’t really do much of anything.

Kurapika reaches over and turns the light down to about half-way, then calmly brushes them away, and when he does it, they stay gone. Probably because he reeks like an embalming disaster right now.

“Stay close,” he says quietly, and keeps walking, tenses up when Leorio misjudges a step and bumps into him, but doesn’t pull away. He must be tired.

Leorio says, “Hey,” puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘You okay,’ he doesn’t get to say because Kurapika swats him off like one of the beetles, glaring up at him like he knows looks can’t kill but absolutely wishes they could.

“Okay,” Leorio says, hand up, palm out, totally empty and fingers lax. Really, he should know better by now, but it’s hard not to try. “My bad.”

Kurapika just watches him, furious and intent for another second, then wheels and stalks off towards the camp. So much for better lighting. Leorio trails after him, shaking the lantern every so often to dislodge some more bugs.

When they reach the camp, Kurapika pretty much flings himself down to take a seat by the fire.

“I’ll take first watch,” he says, stiff and clipped.

“The hell you will,” Leorio says, turning the lantern off. “Go wash up and lie down, I’m on first.”

“I can--”

“You could,” Leorio agrees. “But you shouldn’t. I’m not getting eaten by some weird jungle thing because you conked out after going non-stop for like the past three days.”

“I won’t--”

“You sure? Because I’m not sure. And I napped, so I won’t be able to sleep anyway. You should just lie down, even if you can’t sleep.”

Kurapika just stares into the fire. Maybe his mouth works, or maybe it’s just the way firelight makes everything move. Then he says like the words are being dragged out of him, “I suppose.”

“Just admit I’m right and make things easier for me, okay?”

“You’re right!” Kurapika snaps at him. “Don’t be smug about it.”

“Nah,” Leorio says, and Kurapika hisses something under his breath, then goes to rummage in his bag. He pulls out a toothbrush, then starts digging again.

“Just use my toothpaste, it’s already out,” Leorio says. Kurapika just swivels to glare at him, then pulls out a bar of plastic-wrapped soap. Then he stalks off, but at least he takes the toothpaste with him.

Telling time without a phone sucks. Even a minute feels too long, and Leorio’s starting to get antsy, has nearly made up his mind to get up and go looking for Kurapika when he comes sulking back, drops the toothpaste where he found it, and jams a wadded bundle of cloth back into his bag, probably wrapped around his toothbrush and soap.

“You know it’s easier to have that stuff in a little bag, right?”

“I don’t care,” Kurapika says, stiff and annoyed, plonking down onto his camping mat. “Goodnight.”

He’s out almost as soon as he lies down, breathing deep and harsh, face sagging. He doesn’t even change the rest of his clothes. It doesn’t look at all like he’s resting, more like he’s just succumbing. Leorio sighs and adds more wood to the fire. He’ll do his best to sleep later, but it looks like he’s in for a long night.

\---

It only takes another day of digging, and then it’s done. All buried, all the ones that Kurapika could find and bring back. Kurapika appears back in camp slightly before lunch, sleeves and knees still covered in dirt and chemicals and god knows what else, but his hands look mostly clean. Leorio uncaps a bottle of water anyway.

“You okay?” he says, putting his textbook aside. He considers it, then moves it slightly farther away, waits for Kurapika to sit. “Hands.”

Kurapika just nods, then offers his hands, palms up. His face is drawn and pale, but he at least goes through the motions of washing until his hands are clean.

“It’s done,” he says, then doesn’t make a move to do anything else. Left alone, he’s just gonna stay like that for who knows how long.

“I’m so sorry,” Leorio says. It’s not right, but at least it’s something.

“It shouldn’t be you that’s sorry,” Kurapika says, expression less like smiling and more like baring his teeth. Then he exhales heavily, forcing the tension out of his face. “I apologize. I--”

“Geez, don’t worry about it,” Leorio says, then hands him the water. “Drink.”

He takes a couple swallows, then puts it down. Probably not enough, but at least it’s something. Leorio dishes out another plate of lunch.

“Here,” he says, handing Kurapika a plate. “Not the fanciest, but still.”

Kurapika takes the plate at least, but doesn’t do much more than stare gloomily down at it. It’s gonna be hard, but he should at least try to eat a little.

“You okay? You need some time?”

Kurapika shakes his head, tight and small, then pokes at his food. He puts it aside without taking a bite, which is fair, really. It’s just some canned stew sort of thing. There’s not much around to make it more exciting.

“I’ve known they were gone for years,” he says, arms folded over his knees. “This is just formalities, I suppose.”

“You think so?”

“I do,” Kurapika says quietly. “And now it’s all over."

Leorio frowns down at his shoes. If anything were that easy, they’d all be happier. Then he leans over to poke at what’s left in the stewpot. Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember seeing Kurapika eat breakfast either.

He sits back, then says, “Hey. You have your pills?”

“In my bag,” Kurapika says.

“You have to keep taking them. They don’t work as well if you don’t take’em regularly.”

Kurapika scowls, then swivels around to grab his bag and rummage through it. He pulls out a palm-sized rectangle of foil and plastic, redirects his scowl at it. “What day is today?”

“Sunday.”

Frowning, Kurapika stares down at it, countdown in his head nearly audible. Then he goes right from where he left off, which had to have been at least three days ago.

“Hey! You know that’s not how that works.”

“Be quiet,” Kurapika says, cold and clipped, and Leorio rolls his eyes, then slaps the pills out of his hands. Too much trouble to try grabbing them; Kurapika’s pretty quick.

“You can’t just flood your system if you miss a few days, jackass, you’ll throw everything out of sync. You _know_ this.”

Kurapika is dusting the pills off, back to scowling at him now. “It’s worked before.”

“You mean you got lucky before. Anyway, it’s not good for you. Just take one every day, like you’re supposed to.”

“I hate them,” Kurapika mutters, counts one out proper, then pops it out of the foil and into his mouth. He dry-swallows, nose wrinkling slightly, like he wants to make a face but won’t let himself do it.

Leorio hands him a water bottle. “You’d hate the other thing worse.”

“I appreciate the reminder,” Kurapika says tightly, then takes a drink. After putting the bottle down again, he pulls his knees up to his chest and props his chin on them, glaring into the forest.

Leorio jostles his arm. “You need to eat something with those. Just a little.”

Kurapika glares at him, then picks up his plate and eats two bites before putting it down again. 

Leorio sighs. “If you don’t like the pills so much, why didn’t you try anything else?”

“It was most convenient at the time,” Kurapika says, clipped and annoyed, back to glowering off into the forest.

“You just found a thing that worked and ran with it, huh?”

Kurapika doesn’t answer, still sulking.

“Well, uh. Maybe you can get all that taken care of. You have the time now.”

Kurapika’s shoulders pull up, just a little, then he swings around to look at Leorio, and starts to laugh. It’s not a great sound, and quickly turns into a pretty awful one. Stress response, probably. Leorio reaches over to take his wrist, and he pulls away, then buries his face in his hands.

Leorio takes his elbow instead, tries again when he flicks it out of reach. He moves closer, settles against Kurapika’s shoulder, carefully puts an arm around him.

“Come here,” he says. “Come here. Come on over here. I’ve got you.”

Kurapika stays where he is, face against his hands against his knees. Leorio turns to face him, so that his right shoulder can be against Kurapika’s left, then gathers him in again. Kurapika tries wriggling away, but can’t quite find his footing. Leorio waits until he lurches, then tugs him down. Unfair, really, but he’ll use every dirty trick in the book if it keeps Kurapika from wandering off like that.

Kurapika settles hard on the dirt again, gasping. He tries to get back up, but all it takes is a hand on his shoulder and he unbalances, falls and curls up again. Leorio doesn’t touch him this time, waits instead as Kurapika’s wheezing gets progressively worse before he just falls silent.

“I’m here, okay?” Leorio says down to his back. Carefully, he takes Kurapika’s almost entirely uneaten lunch, moves it a safe distance away. “I’m here with you. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

This gets _something_ out of Kurapika, but it’s a choked-up kind of something, and Kurapika just goes silent again, though there’s a tremor all along his shoulders and back.

Leorio gives him a few, then says quietly, “Can you sit up?”

After a moment, Kurapika shakes his head. “I can’t,” he’s saying, “I _can’t,”_ but then he’s moving anyway, back straightening, fists braced against his knees.

“You don’t have to,” Leorio begins, hands out, but Kurapika is up now, looking right at him with his eyes wide and livid. Leorio turns his hands palm up, not asking, just there, because that’s really all people need sometimes.

“You don’t have to,” he says again. His parent-voice is garbage, but his actual patient-voice is great. He’s great at it. He broke up a nitrile glove slapfight between two terror twins once. Once he talked down a toddler who got so worked up she bit his stethoscope. _She hadn’t had her nap yet._ He’s got this.

He really hopes he’s got this.

Kurapika looking at his hands now, breathing ragged. He’s not looking too good, face blotched, mouth working. For a little, it’s like he’s just about to shut his eyes, hold himself still for a long second, then just open them again like nothing’s wrong. Then he just-- His face crumples and he fucking _wails,_ and it’s hard to say if he lunges or collapses forward, grabbing at Leorio’s wrists, his forearms, his shirt. It’s just one moment of that fucking awful sound, then he shuts himself up, face buried in Leorio’s shirt.

Leorio stays stock-still for a moment, not really sure how long this whole situation is gonna last. Then, carefully, he folds his arms around Kurapika.

Hard to tell that he’s crying now. It’s just little hitches of breath and how his shoulders are tight and shaking. Aside from that, he’s still and silent, and the front patch of Leorio’s shirt is getting damp.

“It’s all right,” he says down to the top of Kurapika’s head, one arm around his shoulders, other hand smoothing a long steady path down his back. “It’s all right.”

Eventually Kurapika says, muffled, “I don’t mean to trouble you.”

“I’m not troubled,” he says, but Kurapika’s already pulling away, not looking at him.

“I’ve ruined your shirt.”

“I packed a couple.”

“I’m going to go,” Kurapika says, standing and turning to scrub at his eyes with one sleeve. “I’m going to wash my face.”

“Sure,” Leorio says, and lets him go this time.

He doesn’t come back for the rest of the day. Towards evening, Leorio takes a walk, passes through the village. Must’ve been nice, before everything. Bright colors, those little swirly motifs, people just going about their days, all of them dressed like Kurapika did the first year they met. Did they all wear blue? Did it mean anything?

Kurapika’s standing in front of his old house, shirtsleeves rolled up, one hand on the doorframe. Leorio pauses, then comes up beside him, but he doesn’t move at all. There’s no way he doesn’t know Leorio’s there though.

Leorio clears his throat. “What’s up?”

“Everything,” Kurapika says, then cuts himself off, mouth pressing flat as he stares into what’s left of his house. Leorio waits, but he just stands there, eyes watering.

“You know you can talk to me.”

“No, thank you.” He inhales, then sighs. After a moment, he rubs his forearm over his face, then lowers it again. “I know I’ve been difficult. I’m sorry.”

He says it like it was supposed to be a surprise. Leorio shrugs, though he probably isn’t looking, then says, “I mean, I never figured this would be easy. Not for either of us.”

Kurapika stays where he is, doesn’t look over. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t want-- I would have done this alone.”

Sounds like Kurapika. No room to let anyone know he has weaknesses unless he absolutely has to, and even then… Leorio shakes his head slightly, then glances back at him and says, “So is that why you asked me?”

One shoulder raises briefly, then lowers.

“Melody was busy, huh?”

Another person Kurapika trusts. Weird realization. Weirder that it isn’t even a surprise. Kurapika just says, “She asked for leave and I gave it to her.”

“The symphony?”

“Yes.”

“Glad you thought I could help, then.”

“I appreciate it,” Kurapika says, then leans his head against the doorframe. Leorio sighs and settles a hand on his shoulder. He’s gonna get a splinter that way.

“Come here,” he says, and after a moment, Kurapika does, slowly. Poor guy. He’s wrung out, actually lets Leorio fold both arms around his shoulders and pull him close, even if he doesn’t relax for a single second of it.

It’s not long before Kurapika pulls away again, arms folded tightly against himself.

“I’d like to be alone please,” he says quietly, gaze turning back to the doorway.

“Sure,” Leorio says, backs up a step and waits, but Kurapika stays where he is, doesn’t look over, doesn’t say anything else. So he walks away, and leaves him to it.

\---

For the next two days, Kurapika drifts between village and gravesite. Leorio has to track him down at mealtimes, starts bringing the plate with him after the first time Kurapika says, “I’ll be right there,” and never shows.

As far as Leorio can tell, he just stares for hours, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, sometimes pacing slowly through the jars and stones that are makeshift gravestones for his family, notebook in hand.

“Why don't you take a picture?” Leorio says to him one afternoon in the middle of the village, then settles next to him on the rock he’s perching on today. It’s a good rock. Plenty of space. Lots of flat surface to sit on.

“No.”

“Might be good to have handy later.”

“I said no.” It’s quiet, but there's a dangerous undercurrent.

“Fine,” Leorio says, then slides off to sit on the grass instead and turn his face up to the sun. It’s a nice day. Bright and warm, leaves rustling, birds calling, wildlife sounds. Pretty out here. Too pretty. Feels wrong somehow.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Me?” Leorio says, eyes shut. “Waiting for you.”

“Don’t bother. You can go back any time.”

“Trip’ll be better with company,” he says, glancing back at Kurapika, then freezes. Kurapika is looking down at him with the same kind of laser-focus he uses for an unexpected problem he has to solve.

Leorio stares back, starting to frown. “Hey. What.”

Kurapika is silent, then shakes his head and turns away.

“What?” Leorio says, sitting up and twisting around to look at him. “What was that about?”

“Nothing.”

“I get car-sick,” he says, which isn’t true, but it could be.

“They’re not cars, and you don’t.”

Time to try the truth. He says, with just a little bit of a whine, “I’d get lost.”

That at least gives Kurapika pause, because no one likes to hear a grown man cry, but then he draws his feet up and says, “Head west until you find a main road, and that will lead you back to town.”

“That’s not a town.”

“I don’t care.” With a slight edge of satisfaction, he adds, “Why don’t you use an app?”

“Phone’s out of battery, and I’m saving my spare. Signal’s pretty good out here, though. Must be a tower close by.”

Kurapika just breathes out, exasperated and slow. Leorio cranes around to catch his gaze again and says, “Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

Kurapika glares at him, then slides off the rock and stalks off into the forest. Leorio lets him go. Better not push it. He sighs, then stands too and heads back to camp. Might as well try to get some reading done.

He gets about a chapter in and is taking a break when Kurapika returns to camp later that afternoon, and says without preamble, “The walking birds are getting restless.”

Leorio doesn’t move from where he’s stretched out full-length on the grass, eyes shut and head pillowed on his notes. “Yeah?”

“You should take them back. I’ll be fine here.”

“I’m not wrangling those hell-beasts alone,” Leorio says, still lying down. “They bite, and they’re awful, and I hate them and they hate me.”

“You have class to get back to, don’t you?”

“Hang on, wait,” Leorio says, opening his eyes, then immediately shielding them from the sun. He sits up to squint at Kurapika. “So you’re not just talking about going back to the town, but all the way back to Yorknew?”

“Ideally,” Kurapika says, glancing down at him. “You’re not much of a camper.”

“Excuse you,” Leorio snaps, flinging himself back on the grass. “I camp just fine.”

Kurapika just watches him for a long moment, then settles down on the grass. He pulls his knees up, circles his arms around them. “You woke me up because of an owl hooting.”

“You were already awake, and it was a really weird hoot. Sounded way bigger.”

Kurapika doesn’t even try to handle that one. “Go back to school,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

Leorio arches an eyebrow at him and says, “Maybe I like camping.”

“You don’t.”

“Maybe I like camping with you.”

Kurapika opens his mouth, shuts it, then turns to glare off into the trees, shoulders hunching. “Don’t be absurd.”

Leorio watches him a moment longer, then reaches to put a hand on his elbow. Kurapika flinches, then flicks him away.

“Hey,” Leorio says, folding both hands over his stomach. Kurapika keeps his arms tucked in close against him, doesn’t look over. “What’re you still staying out here for?”

“I haven’t been back in years,” Kurapika says. It should be venomous, but it’s like he can’t even muster the energy for that.

“I know but…” Leorio stops, reconsiders. He sighs. “Anything I can help with?”

“No. Go home.”

“What about you?”

“I am home.”

_Don’t say something stupid._ Leorio rubs his hands over his face, forefingers pressing against the bridge of his nose. “Yeah? How’re you gonna live here on your own?”

Kurapika inhales sharply, and Leorio braces himself. He probably has something vague and dismissive to say, dangerously close to cruel because he won’t let anyone be kind.

Instead he makes a soft choked sound, like he’s swallowed wrong or somehow been caught off-guard. Leorio sits up and turns to find Kurapika with his face pressed to his knees, still sitting, folded as small as possible. Hard to tell from here, but it looks like he’s got his hands over his mouth.

Leorio’s stomach clenches, but he stays where he is. No sudden movements. “Kurapika?”

Kurapika just shakes his head, huddling even further into himself. Leorio slowly edges closer.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Kurapika. It’s okay. You wanna talk, I’ll listen.”

Kurapika shakes his head again, hands settling briefly on his knees before he wheezes, then claps them over his mouth again.

“Kurapika, breathe.” When he inches closer, Kurapika tenses even more, looks up with his eyes gone red, and he stops. “Just breathe.”

Kurapika gasps, strained like his throat’s locked up, then lowers his face back to his knees. “I’m not,” he says, gulping for air.

He’s breathing, at least. “Not what?”

“I’m not ready,” he chokes out, then laces his hands behind his neck, shoulders shaking, breathing harsh but steady. Too steady.

Leorio listens, frowning. It’s an easy pattern. In for three. Hold for three. Out for three. Wait for three. And again. Good for focus. Not the best for calming down, but good enough if the other methods are unmanageable.

He slides carefully over until he can sit near Kurapika, within reach but not touching. Kurapika looks up and watches him do it, eyes still bright and wide and brimming with tears. Still weird to see him cry. Worse somehow when he’s not sure what to do about it.

“Kurapika,” he says, and Kurapika just puts his head down against his knees again, covering himself with his hands.

“Go away.”

He snorts. “And leave you like this? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t care!”

“Well, I do,” Leorio says. “And it seems like you could use a little company.”

_“I don’t care what you think.”_

“Tough,” Leorio says, then leans down so he can try and look Kurapika in the face. “I’m here. You asked me to be here. So I’m gonna stay.”

Kurapika makes a super pissed-off sound, like tea kettle being strangled, then crams his face against his knees. If there’s an easy way to defuse the situation, it’s not really apparent right now. Seems like it would only take one wrong move for this to go south, and every move is the wrong one.

It happens. Someone gets pushed too hard, too far, and they end up a bundle of raw nerves, brittle and too scared to show it. Kurapika’s tougher than most, poor guy. Hard to tell if Kurapika has breaking points anymore, or if that’s all he is now.

Better to try something than nothing. Leorio sits up and says, “You coming with me?”

_“No._ I have to--” Kurapika chokes, swallows hard. He takes another deep breath, holds it, then says, “I have to stay.”

“Yeah?”

“I _have_ to. You have no idea how long it’s been,” he says, voice ragged, nearly inaudible with his entire face pressed to his knees. Then he starts to sob, huge dry wracking sounds that shake his entire body. Scary, a little. It’s too much for him. He’s going to shake apart.

__“Okay,” Leorio says, putting a hand on his back. He’d freak if Leorio tried to pick him up. As it is, he drags in another huge breath and starts to cry harder, one arm unfolding to swipe at Leorio, jerky and uncoordinated._ _

__Leorio takes his hand away. “Okay,” he says quietly. Guess he better settle in, wait this one out. Kurapika needs it. Then he needs someone to make sure he gets some water and goes to sleep. That’s doable. That’s fine. “Okay. One more day.”_ _

__\---_ _

__The next day, Kurapika’s spot by the fire is empty, and Leorio looks at it heavy-eyed, then sighs before he rubs his hands over his face and goes to get some water for coffee. They’re low on supplies, so he drinks half a cup and leaves the rest in the kettle by the fire, then eats one of the dubiously healthy prepackaged bars they still have left. It’s sandy and dense, but it’s got vitamins and stuff, and it almost tastes like chocolate like it’s supposed to. He hasn’t found one yet that really gets it right, though._ _

__He gets dressed, gets the walking birds ready, then gets dressed again because one of them rips his shirt. Asshole. They’re leaving today, though, no matter what Kurapika has to say about it. God, he might actually have to fight Kurapika for it, depending on the mood he’s in. He considers it, then kicks dirt over the fire and drinks the rest of the coffee before going to find Kurapika._ _

__Kurapika’s sitting by the gravesite again. Same place, on a ridged tree root at the edge of the clearing, almost entirely in the shade. Leorio comes up beside him, but he doesn’t move._ _

__“Kurapika,” he says, glancing down at him. “Hey. We’re out of food. Time to go.”_ _

__“Just a little longer,” Kurapika says softly, gaze still fixed on the graves. “You can head back now, if you want to.”_ _

__“I want to head back now with you. Let’s go.”_ _

__Kurapika doesn’t respond, gaze still steady and hands still loosely clasped before him. Leorio sighs and rubs the back of his neck, glancing out over the clearing as well. Nothing new. Still just small mounds of dirt and the eyes of Kurapika’s family buried beneath them._ _

__“Kurapika. I’m worried about you. Let’s go. We’ll come back.”_ _

__“Will you bury me here?”_ _

__“Uh,” Leorio manages, staring down at him. He could pick Kurapika up, definitely. Could he get him all the way back to Yorknew without incident? Or even just back to town?_ _

__“Later,” Kurapika says, finally turning to look back at him. "Eventually.”_ _

__He doesn’t relax. “If that’s what you want, yeah. I mean. Assuming I outlive you.”_ _

__“You will,” Kurapika says, calm and certain, turning his gaze back over the graves again. Leorio tenses, hands coming down, but Kurapika only stands, brushing himself off as he says, “All right, then. Let’s go.”_ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this chapter aside from overall work tags
> 
> POV shift! I broke an existing longer chapter into 2 parts, but ended up with this extra short chapter, so here it is a few days early. Next chapter out this Friday.

The return journey is a haze. Kurapika leads the birds out and, as they saddle up and depart, hopes that they at least know their way home.

“West, right?” Leorio says worriedly a few hours later, and he glances up, recalibrates.

They rest when they need to, press on when they need to, and more than once, Leorio tries to start a conversation, put a hand on his shoulder, but he gives it up when Kurapika only looks wordless at him, shrugs him away. He remarks out loud to himself instead, ceaselessly, but none of it is memorable.

They arrive back in town without further incident. Kurapika cannot help but think of it still as a town, though he has seen towns and villages and cities, which this is, though a small rustic one, still given to tradition and local superstition. Leorio fails to remain wary as they lead the birds back, and is pecked twice before giving up the reins to him.

“Everyone back in one piece?” the vendor says upon their return, and Kurapika says, “That will be all,” and, “Keep the change,” before Leorio can say anything rude, then walks away.

Leorio is still fuming on the shuttle ride back to the terminal, occasionally muttering to himself just behind Kurapika’s left shoulder. The bus goes over an unexpected bump, and Leorio ceases grumbling long enough to catch his arm and say, “Careful!”

Kurapika brushes him off, readjusts his grip on the handhold. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

The terminal staff know to expect him, which is good, and they have to wait for the airship to be readied, which is not, and so he sits in a waiting room with Leorio for an hour, trying not to speak. 

“Hey,” Leorio says after the first ten minutes. “Charge your phone.”

A sensible suggestion, for once. He fishes the charger out of his bag and plugs it in, then leans his head back against the wall and shuts his eyes. No, not a good move. Leorio tends to let his optimism get the better of him, and this isn’t a truly secure location. He opens his eyes again, does not straighten in his seat.

The minutes drag longer the more they go by. Leorio continues to glance at him in a manner he doubtless considers surreptitious. Kurapika does not look back. There is movement outside, but none of it unexpected, and none in their direction.

Finally, Leorio says, “You okay?”

“No.”

“You wanna--”

“No.”

“Okay,” Leorio says, and leaves him be. Good.

It feels like several unbearable lifetimes before someone finally knocks on the door. The pattern is correct and the person came calmly and alone, so Kurapika unplugs his charger and takes his bag, and goes without further assessment. 

The private airship is ready. They could have taken commercial, of course, but then someone else would have had to deal with this one, and if it hadn’t been him, some difficult questions may have been raised. Or he could have disregarded all those possibilities. He could have readjusted based on likelihood.

The only problem is that once someone disappears, there are people who are bound to go looking. Maybe it’s for the best he return with Leorio. Maybe he should have thought it through a little more carefully when he was first planning it.

He heads up the ramp and directly to the controls, leaving Leorio to trail after him. Not that it matters. It doesn’t matter what either of them do anymore, but Leorio should get home safely. He deserves that much, at the very least.

Kurapika fumbles through setting the course for the blimp until Leorio says from behind him, “Go sit down.”

“I’ve done this before,” he says, frustrated. It’s due north, he knows, cruising altitude 22,000 feet, top speed 74 miles per hour.

“So have I. Go sit down.”

When he doesn’t move, Leorio sighs, then shoulders in front of him so he has to step back.

“Go sit down,” Leorio repeats, flicks one hand impatiently as Kurapika moves to look over his elbow. “Quit it.”

He goes, settles onto the metal bench, worn cushion squeaking as he sits. There’s no good way to arrange his hands and feet, so he folds his hands together, places his feet side-by-side. Spending the rest of the journey like this seems somehow unbearable, but doubtless Leorio will object if he paces. He could sleep and stay sitting. He’s used to it. He’s done it enough.

He considers it a little longer, but it’s too much trouble. Leorio finishes his adjustments, and they wait, listen to the the distant hiss and hum as the blimp readies itself for departure, and then slowly, it rises.

It will take several hours for their return journey, and he no longer has anything to occupy himself with. He’s done. There’s nothing more he can do. The blimp is a contained environment. Leorio is the only other person aboard, and will notify him of any threats.

He lies down. 

Leorio is sitting beside him for much of the journey, occasionally getting up to check the instruments and make course corrections as necessary. Once he goes to the far end of the blimp to make a phone call. Kurapika shuts his eyes and when he opens them again, Leorio is there, head leaned against the back of the bench, left hand flat on the seat between them.

He must make a sound, because Leorio stirs, glances down at him. “You all right?”

“Yes,” he says, and presses his face into his arms. There’s a slight shuffle, then Leorio’s hand settles on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, though doubtless Leorio will try again when he thinks it’s safe, and tries to fall asleep again.

He must succeed, because the next thing he knows, he is on his feet, chains manifest, Leorio sitting back on the bench with both his hands raised. 

“Sorry,” Leorio says, doesn’t lower his hands until Kurapika lowers his. He should be angry at Kurapika, or afraid. Instead he only looks sad.

Kurapika stalks towards the navigational system, shoulders and chest tight without knowing why. He himself has no reason to be angry. 

“Just another hour or so,” Leorio calls from his seat.

“I see that,” he replies, harsher than he meant. It may be a good thing. At least now he can be angry at himself. He takes a breath, lets it out slowly, then busies himself looking over the dials.

“Anything up?”

“No.” He clenches and unclenches his hands, settles them on the dash again. All in order. “Where did you learn to fly a blimp?”

Leorio says something mentioning his university, or perhaps leaving his university to go on the expedition. Some form of additional training. The machinery is loud here. It hums in his ears. He looks over the dials again, but nothing is malfunctioning. He doesn’t quite understand.

“I see,” he says.

Leorio says something else and he ignores it. The sun is beginning to rise, light washing in from their starboard. This high up, some constellations are still visible, none of them familiar, or even interesting. He used to like the horizon. All that potential, the promise of things he hadn’t yet seen.

“Kurapika,” Leorio says right behind him.

He does not flinch. _“What.”_

“It’s okay to cry.”

He is not crying. He turns to glare up at Leorio. He does not like being startled and Leorio knows this.

Leorio is unaffected. “Come sit down.”

“No.”

“Just come take a quick break. Drink some water or something. You’ll get a headache.”

He just had a break, and he already has a headache. Everything aches. Leorio will try to fix it if he says anything. It’s an impossible task, so Kurapika spares him and says nothing.

Leorio persists. “Kurapika. Keep me company?”

Kurapika frowns--damn him--then considers. It’s a transparent ploy. But doubtless Leorio means it, may have initially been dissembling. He never did like to admit to his softer side.

When he glances back, Leorio is watching him and making no effort to hide it. So it is a ploy, but one made stronger by his sincerity, which he has already taken into account. It is clever of him and they both know it. How irritating.

He follows Leorio to the bench, and sits after he does. Leorio leans over to rummage around in his bag at the end of the bench.

“Here,” Leorio says, passes him a bar. “Eat something.”

Kurapika stares, but makes no move to take it. “You said we were out of food.”

“Yeah, I lied. But maybe I didn’t? This is really garbage, I’m just saying.”

“Cheater,” he says, and it should be angrier. He takes a breath and tries again. “Scoundrel.”

“Yeah,” Leorio says again, then folds back the wrapping on the bar and puts it into his hand. “Here.”

It seems he will have no peace until he obliges. He takes a bite and chews it slowly. The texture is bad. The flavor is boring. But finishing the bar should be simple. He needs the sustenance. Just eat it quickly and it will be over with. He’s done it enough.

He manages a bite, then shoves the bar back at Leorio, who doesn’t take it. 

“One more bite,” Leorio says patiently instead, as though tending to some poor wounded creature. Like a true doctor.

Kurapika drops the bar on the bench between them and stalks back to the controls. Again, nothing to tend to here. But at least he can monitor. The sun is too bright and it makes his eyes water. It hurts. It all hurts. Hard to care about it any longer.

When Leorio comes to put a hand on his elbow and steer him back to the seats, he goes. He doesn’t know what else to do.

\----

He doesn’t think he sleeps, and he doesn’t think he wakes. Leorio glances over at him from time to time, plainly concerned, but doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t bother to speak. It’s embarrassing; he should have better control of himself by now.

He saw it through, though. There was a possibility he wouldn’t, that something would go wrong, that he would be overwhelmed. It was good of Leorio to accompany him. He needed a failsafe and Leorio is reliable. Doubtless he was busy with classes and the doings of his own life, and still. He is here.

Kurapika shuts his eyes, and when he opens them again, Leorio is picking up their bags and saying, “Good timing. We’re back.”

It is unthinkable that he should have missed when Leorio began to land the airship. He sits up abruptly, and Leorio holds out a warning hand, says, “Take it easy,” when he stands. He should have been alert. Just in case.

“Here,” Leorio says, handing him his bag, and he takes it because it’s his, slings it across his chest. It’s a familiar weight, and one of the few things that he’s been able to keep the same. It’s much-patched by now, but it holds all he needs and has for a long, long time. 

He clutches the strap and follows Leorio out to the hangar, then through the terminal. Should he say goodbye now? He had planned on saying it before, but the moment has passed, and he has no destination in mind. He could make his way to Kakin, perhaps. Or rendezvous with Melody. His hands tighten around the strap and he is still trying to decide when Leorio drops a hand on his shoulder.

“Cab’s here,” Leorio says.

There was a moment, and he lost it. He slides into the cab, suddenly tired, and Leorio slides in after him. He rallies enough to lean over and murmur to Leorio that their drop-off should be a few blocks away and that they should pay cash. He shuts his eyes before Leorio can glance incredulously down at him. Leorio was right before: It is mafia bullshit and it is complicated, but he is good at it.

It’s not so long before Leorio gently shakes his shoulder and says, “Wake up. We’re here.”

He opens his eyes and sits up, follows Leorio out of the taxi. The surrounding area seems familiar, but he would rather not try to remember the path leading to Leorio’s high-rise. Instead he glances up at Leorio, who takes the hint and starts walking. Kurapika follows after, keeps his hands in his pockets and walks steadily enough, though Leorio continues to sneak sidelong glances at him, then visibly shortens his stride. Too much bother to mention it, so he doesn’t.

In the lobby, Leorio exchanges glances with the concierge, then raises a hand in greeting, turning it into a little surreptitious tap of two fingers on his chest, right where the breast pocket would be on a suit. An ideal size for a Hunter license, if not the most secure location.

They are allowed to pass without comment. He suspects he could have gained entry the first time by simply showing his license, but it would have been conspicuous, and Leorio would have been annoyed if he’d broken in. Better not to risk it, on both counts.

He follows Leorio to the elevators, and they go up in silence. Seventeen floors. He doesn’t like it. 

They step out, and he grimaces in distaste at how the carpeting seems to sway beneath him, but if he keeps his head level and follows after Leorio, it should be bearable. He will acclimate shortly. At the corner, he nearly bumps into Leorio’s back after a sudden stop, looks up sharply, but Leorio is already stooping slightly, exchanging pleasantries with… someone elderly, from the sound of it.

“Oop! Sorry, let me get out of your way.”

Kurapika frowns, considering, but Leorio is already edging aside, leaving him exposed. He sidles after to stay just beside Leorio’s shoulder, not too fast, not too slow, just a natural flow to observe social niceties.

The old woman hardly notices, is instead beaming up at Leorio. “Doctor! Haven’t seen you in ages. How have you been?”

“Not a doctor yet,” Leorio says, laughing like it’s an old joke between them. “Just coming back from a camping trip.”

“It’s good you can take some time off,” she says, then peers much too closely at Kurapika. “And who’s this?”

“Just an old friend,” Leorio says, and waves as she leaves down the hall. Kurapika considers her departing back, and wonders if she will remember his face.

“No,” Leorio says.

“What.”

“Whatever you’re thinking. No. Don’t.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.” He wouldn’t anyway. It won’t come to that. He hopes.

Leorio snorts, but continues down the hallway anyway. “Yeah, right. You’re always thinking something.”

Unfortunately true. He trails behind Leorio, waits as he opens the door to his apartment, ignores the vague sense of unease. It was a long journey. He is tired. So tired. His clothes need to be washed. This is as good a solution as any. He will stay, do his laundry, and depart within the next twenty-four hours. Leorio will be annoyed, but it’s better to not impose. He scuffs his shoes off, and Leorio shuts the door behind him.

The cot in the study is still ready, sheets folded where he left them, towel left unused on the office chair. He stands surveying it all again, to see if there are any differences, or to see if it will feel just a little less unfamiliar this time, then drops his bag on the cot. It feels wrong. An interruption in the long smooth plane. It doesn’t belong there. He does not remove it.

There’s a slight scuff behind him, and Leorio is there when he turns, looking exhausted.

“Do you need anything else?” Leorio says, leaning slightly on the doorframe, close enough to kiss again. Much like the last time they’d said goodbye.

He’d had his hands on Kurapika’s shoulders then, too close, too warm, the edge of a bruise barely visible over his loosened collar. “I just want you to know there’ll be a place for you,” he’d said, then hesitated before adding quietly, “However much of you makes it back.”

He’s a good man. True to his word.

“No,” Kurapika says, and shuts the door on him. For a moment, there’s only silence on the other side of the door, then the sound of Leorio walking away. Good.

His bag is at the foot of the bed. He settles heavily beside it. Here it is. Nearly everything he owns. Most of it could use a wash. Maybe before he leaves tomorrow.

He sighs, then tilts over, head dropping against the pillow, feet still settled on the ground. He could at least change, maybe decide on what would be best to to do in the morning. It’s the least he could do before going to sleep.

Reluctantly, he levers himself up, reaches for his bag without looking and begins once again sorting through his things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this chapter aside from overall work tags
> 
> Quick POV Guide: 3 dashes ('---') for Leorio; 4 dashes ('----') for Kurapika

It’s dark when he startles awake. Mattress, two pillows, sheets, one wall he can touch, the sound of his breathing, harsh and loud, and something else, a creak or a groan, and slowly, slowly, he understands. The sounds and lights of a city past midnight filter in through the window, wash in the shapes of a desk, a chair, two bookshelves, the shut and locked door. He retrieves his phone from beneath a pillow to check the time (ten unread messages), then puts it back.

Yorknew. Leorio’s study. 3:34 A.M. His family is buried. He is done.

And still, nothing has changed.

Kurapika stares at the ceiling, waiting for his heartbeat to settle, then rolls to the wall. It’s a bad time of night to be awake. It’s a bad time of night for anything at all. The groaning has stopped. It might have been Leorio, location unknown, but he suspects himself. His mouth is dry and the air feels stale, and he decides he does not want to be in this room any longer.

He gets up, silently opens the door and drifts into the kitchen, feeling his way along. There’s a slight hum from a living room, the flickering light of the TV, and Leorio is sprawled across the couch, asleep. Kurapika tries to remember the relative distances between the fixtures, squinting in the near-dark. They’re high up enough that the light coming in from the city is dim, just enough to catch on corners and edges, but he still bumps into the edge of a stool on his way to the cabinets. Leorio does not stir. Kurapika gets a glass of water, glances back into the living room.

There’s a laptop on the coffee table, also asleep but still open, and a textbook beside it, also open, a notebook and pencil balanced on top. He pulls out a stool at the standalone kitchen counter, then sits and drinks his water, rubbing his eyes, dry and gritty.

The clock on the microwave reads 3:45 A.M. by the time he finishes. His eyes have adjusted to the dark. He leaves the glass where it is, then goes to shut the laptop. Leorio doesn’t move, mouth hanging slightly open, drooling onto his shoulder.

He leans to take the blanket off the back of the couch, then pulls it over Leorio, who startles.

“Who’s there?” he demands, slurred and rough.

“Just me.”

“Kurapika?” he says, sounding uncertain, but he’s settling back already, rubbing his face. “What time is it? It’s late, go to bed.”

“I will. What about you?”

There’s an enormous yawn, then Kurapika leans back to avoid Leorio’s arm as he stretches. “I’m good here,” Leorio mutters as he subsides, curling up under the blanket. “You need anything?”

“No.”

“Then turn the light off when you leave, okay? Thanks.” He pillows his head on his arm and appears to be asleep again within seconds.

Kurapika turns off the TV and returns to the study.

Leorio knocks on the door four and a half hours later.

“Yes?” Kurapika says, sitting by the window. It’s a good view of the city, facing just slightly off north to catch both sunrise and sunset.

“Breakfast.”

When he emerges, Leorio is at the stove, wearing something vaguely familiar over his dress shirt and slacks. Gon had one once, during the exam. He doesn’t remember the word for it in this language. He doesn’t remember if there was one in his own. Frowning, he tries, “Apron?”

“Grease-stains,” Leorio says by way of explanation. 

It’s almost helpful, but not helpful enough. “Grease stains?”

“Yeah, when it spatters.”

“Careless of you.”

Leorio scoffs, sliding a plate towards him. “Like you cook.” A fork and knife follow after.

“I have cooked.” When it was necessary. When he had time. He was rarely inside for the process.

“Doesn’t count if it came from a can.”

“It didn’t,” he says, annoyed despite himself. It’s an inconsequential matter, but still. Frustrated, he taps one finger on the countertop, set in the middle of the room between stovetop and living room for no good reason. “And this is?”

“Oh, uh. An island.”

It’s clearly some sort of table. Kurapika frowns down at it. “Why?”

“I dunno, because it. Floats, I guess,” Leorio says, staring down at the countertop in growing concern before suddenly shaking his head and taking a huge bite of his toast. Muffled, he says, “Eat your breakfast.”

It’s an easy way to avoid further question. Kurapika does not remark on it, and eats. It’s acceptable. Toast. Eggs, over-easy. He knows that much. He splits the yolks, then cuts them loose from the whites and pushes them to the side of the plate.

“Coffee?” Leorio says, 

“Please,” he says, and a mug is settled in front of him. There’s no milk or sugar on the table, so he drinks it black.

Leorio halts in the middle of turning towards the fridge. “Uh. Okay. Need anything else?”

“No.”

He eats half the toast, some of the eggs. He drinks all of the coffee, despite the bitterness. Probably the wrong amount or the wrong grind. He frowns at the mug, regrets not asking for milk.

It seems only a moment later when Leorio’s voice breaks into his thoughts. “Kurapika? Hey, Kurapika?”

“Yes?” Kurapika says, looking up, a slight edge in his voice. He didn’t mean to put it there, but Leorio draws back, frowning slightly. He looks worried. He shouldn’t be.

“You okay? I’ve said your name nearly ten times now.”

“I must not have heard. I’m sorry.”

If anything, Leorio only looks more concerned, eyebrows drawing down and mouth flattening. “Everything all right?”

“I’m fine,” he says.

Leorio doesn’t answer, only continues to look at him, hands lax before him on the table. Uncharacteristically, he doesn’t move, not even a twitch of his fingers. “Hey,” he says quietly, doesn’t try anything else. There’s a question in there. They both know it.

Kurapika exhales, looking down at his mug, at his half-empty plate, at his empty hands. He may as well answer.

“It doesn’t feel real,” he admits. He closes his hands, too loose to be fists, pulls them closer towards himself. The next words are harder to say. “And if that wasn’t real, then what was.”

“Ah,” Leorio manages, then makes an abortive gesture before tangling his own fingers together. “Well.”

He shouldn’t have said anything. He examines his mug again, less out of curiosity and more for something substantial to hold.

“Ah, well,” he says lightly, and Leorio grimaces at him. “It’s done now.” He exhales, then says, rubbing his forehead, “It's embarrassing to admit, but I don't really know what to do next. Except find a hotel, I suppose. Then a new apartment. I hate to keep imposing.”

“No trouble,” Leorio says immediately, annoyance already gone. Typical. “Stay a while. You’re already here, you hate hotels, and it’d be annoying to break a lease if you decided to leave Yorknew. Guest room’s yours, so stay here for a while. Figure it out. What’s with you and Nostrade, anyway?”

“I’ve worked it out with them,” Kurapika answers. Clearly expecting a response, Leorio waits, but Kurapika only holds out his empty mug. “I’ll figure something out.”

Leorio grumbles to himself, but refills his coffee. Setting the pot back on the counter, he says, “By the way, Cheadle still wants you to come in for a debrief. She said she’d be happy to come by here too.”

Kurapika shuts his eyes. “Isn’t there a form for that? Can’t I just write a report?”

Leorio snorts. “I wish! ‘Please rate your experience from one to five.’ One, it was very bad and we nearly died. Would not go back.”

“It’s not a restaurant review, Leorio,” he says. Perhaps his tone is off. It’s hard to gauge.

“What kind of restaurants are you going to?” Leorio says, laughing at him, then glances at the clock. “Oh shit, gotta go. Melody said she’d try to call at around one this afternoon, so keep your phone on.”

“She did?” It is kind of her. Leorio must have set it up.

“Yeah, I didn’t want you to get too lonely without me,” Leorio says, shrugging into his jacket before picking up his satchel. “Connection might not be so good, but we can always try again later.”

“I’m not lonely.”

“Because I’m great company,” Leorio rejoins, adjusting his hair by the reflection in the microwave door. “Just pick up, okay? Help yourself to whatever.”

The door shuts behind him. Kurapika looks at it for a while, then slides out of his chair.

The laundry machines are not in the unit. He could tape the door, or find another way to jam it open somehow, but then he would have to explain the process if Leorio returned before he did, which is already tiring to think about. The room itself may require some form of residential ID to access. That, and he has no coins. Even if they were newer machines, his cards could be traced. Better not to risk it.

Instead he settles on the couch, then takes his phone out of his pocket as an afterthought, places it on the table in front of the television. He’s sure he could find another apartment easily. He still has the funds, but then he would have to furnish it, or find someone to furnish it, then stock the refrigerator, move his things, arrange utilities, and then...

He looks at his phone, then looks out the window again. When Melody calls, it takes nearly a minute before he can bring himself to pick up, and he is almost too late, interrupting his voicemail message. He doesn’t feel like talking, excuses himself after a few minutes. After some thought, he turns on the television.

“Have you been there all day?” Leorio says when he returns in the late afternoon, nearly verging on evening, and Kurapika eyes him, then says, “Do you have any coins I could borrow?”

He doesn’t leave the next day either, and it begins to fall into a pattern. Leorio goes out, and he comes back, goes out and then back, sometimes two, three, four, five times in a day. Once at night. One time, he brings back ice cream. Another time, a sandwich. Once, a pizza. The desk in the study is cleared one day of books and papers, and the table in the living room begins accumulating clutter.

“You need anything?” Leorio says one morning, and it’s an easy question to answer, even after considering it from every angle.

“No,” he says, hands cupped around a mug. The coffee is freshly poured, still hot enough to scald if he were careless. “Thank you.”

Leorio starts a gesture, then drops it partway. Good. Then he says, “So next week, we’re going to headquarters.”

“What headquarters?”

“For the Hunter Association? You still haven’t checked in or whatever. Debriefed.”

Kurapika glances at him, raises his eyebrows. “So?”

“So you’re one of the Zodiacs!” Leorio says, then leans in to glare at him. “Or you were, anyway. Are you still? Did you quit and no one told me?”

“No,” Kurapika says slowly, beginning to frown.

Pacified for the moment, Leorio straightens again, then says, shrugging, “Well, you’ve gotta report in. It’s important to blah blah, keep a record, blah blah, some other stuffy bureaucratic bullshit.”

“I’d rather not,” Kurapika says.

Leorio glances at him and his face softens. Kurapika scowls and looks away.

“Yeah,” Leorio says. “Me neither, but if you don’t go now, Cheadle’ll come find you, or she’ll send Mizai. Probably better to just get it over with.”

As though it were just something he could shut his eyes and have done, instead of doing slowly and painstakingly, step by step by step. As though anything could be that easy. Reluctantly, he says, “Very well.”

When the time comes, Leorio accompanies him to the Association headquarters. Mizaistom is absent, and Cheadle is dissatisfied with his answers.

“Pyon should have been able to give you all the information you needed,” Kurapika says, mouth pinching thin.

Cheadle glowers back at him, then heaves a sigh. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate your efforts--”

“Of course,” he agrees. They don’t.

Her mouth tightens, one finger tapping against her desk, then she says, “Are you certain there’s nothing else you can tell me?”

“It was a nightmare,” he says. “And we’re lucky to be alive. That’s all.”

She is watching him closely, and he dislikes it. She settles back in her chair and says quietly, “We have made special counseling available, for any expedition members who feel they require it.”

“Good to know,” he says, doesn’t mean it. “Can I go?”

“If you like,” she says, which he assumes he is supposed to politely demur, and allow her one last avenue of further conversation.

He gets up and heads for the door.

He is five steps away when she says offhandedly, “I know Leorio has mentioned he finds it useful.”

Kurapika halts. Leorio has mentioned nothing about this. After a moment, he says, “That’s good to hear,” and continues towards the door. He pretends not to hear her sigh as he departs. If Leorio had wanted him to know, he would have said something.

“Ready?” Leorio says, looking up from his phone. He doesn’t look… nervous, or upset, or… particularly different, really. A little tired, perhaps, but that’s only to be expected. Leorio is an open book in many ways; the parts he has closed off, he will not appreciate anyone prying into. That, and his stubbornness will make the prying an ordeal.

Kurapika considers him a little longer.

“What,” Leorio says, frowning back. “Is there something on my face?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

\---

Class isn’t so bad. Leorio tried to get Kurapika to join him once, just so he could be doing _something,_ but he flat-out refused. He did agree to go to the grocery store once, contacts in and hair pulled through a baseball cap, comically swamped by a university hoodie Leorio picked up in his first year, but aside from that, he’s mostly stayed inside. Makes sense. Hasn’t been so long. He just needs some time.

Leorio returns to find him still on the couch, stretched out full-length, eyes shut. He’s got one of Leorio’s old first-responder books settled open on his chest, doesn’t seem to mind the weight. Poor guy. He looks exhausted.

Leorio shrugs out of his jacket, then settles on the floor in front of the couch. There’s a slight shuffle behind him, and the book slides onto the floor. “I can move,” Kurapika says belatedly.

“I don’t mind.” He finds the remotes and turns on the TV, lowers the volume. Nothing to watch, really. He glances back. “Hey, Gon said your voicemail was full. He tried to leave you a message.”

Kurapika settles back on the couch. “Did he.”

“Yeah,” Leorio says, leaning back, one arm on a couch cushion. “I think your voicemail’s been full since you got here. Why don’t you take care of that?”

“Why?”

Leorio shrugs, turns to glance at him, “I don’t know, maybe so people can use it the way it’s supposed to be used?”

Kurapika eyes him, then rolls his eyes slightly and returns to watching the ceiling. “How long has it been?”

“Week and half? Two? Something like that.”

Kurapika somehow manages to sag further into the couch without moving at all. Tough to do, but he manages.

“What?”

Quietly, Kurapika says, “It feels like much longer.”

Nothing to say to that, really. Leorio looks away, then reaches to pat Kurapika’s shoulder. “Gimme your phone. I can do it if you want.”

After some shuffling, something square-ish is pressed into his hand. Kurapika’s phone, already unlocked. Voicemail’s easy to find. There’s a notification up top alerting him to a new one from yesterday; Gon must’ve just missed his chance.

Leorio waits until the robot voice prompts him for the password, then holds the phone up over his shoulder so Kurapika can take it. He’s touchy about private things. “I got to the login part. If you put in your password, I can delete some for you.”

“Eight three zero nine zero.”

Leorio freezes, looks at Kurapika, who’s turned towards the back of the couch.

“Do you need it again?” Kurapika says, quiet and still. 

“Maybe. Give me a second. Eight three nine--”

“No. Eight three zero. Nine zero.”

“Got it.” He brings the phone to his ear. “Anything you don’t want deleted?”

“No. Everything important’s been saved.”

“What about your new ones--”

“I don’t care.”

Leorio deletes about seven from himself, frowning. Three from Gon, one from Melody, some miscellaneous ones that sound business-y or criminal-y or both. He hangs up before getting to the saved messages; maybe Kurapika’s new disinterest in keeping as many secrets to himself as possible is a permanent thing, since his mission is over, but better not to risk it.

“Here,” he says, turning to hand it back to Kurapika, who just flaps his hand once.

“Leave it on the table.”

“You’re weirdly chill about this,” Leorio says, and does.

“How so?”

Leorio rolls his eyes, leans back against the couch. “Ha ha. Good one.”

“It was an honest question,” Kurapika says, managing to sound both completely exhausted and vaguely annoyed.

“Seriously? There’s no way you would’ve ever told anyone your password.”

“You never asked.”

Leorio cranes his head back to glare. “Because it’s your _password.”_

“It’s not an important number,” Kurapika points out. “It has no ties to any other information, and I can change it at any time.”

“Doesn’t that make it hard to remember?” Leorio says. He turns back around so he can actually talk to Kurapika instead of at the empty space somewhere around the ceiling.

“Not that I’m aware.” Kurapika shifts slightly, then almost sounds amused when he says, “You don't still have your birthday as a password, do you?’

“I never told you my password! How do you know my password?”

“It's not hard to figure out,” he says evenly, still facing the back of the couch. “You're not very subtle when you type.”

“Well, stop watching me type then.”

“I wasn’t watching you,” he says, and he suddenly just sounds tired. He scrunches closer to the back of the couch, face in the crease. “It's just easy to see.”

Leorio turns more towards him, but Kurapika stays where he is. If he put a hand on Kurapika’s back, just between the shoulderblades, Kurapika would probably either swing at him or flinch.

He stays where he is. “If you’re tired, go to sleep,” he says, and it comes out wrong, but Kurapika doesn’t move. Maybe he wouldn’t have moved if Leorio had touched him, just stayed still and warm, like a body that hadn’t cooled yet.

Leorio clears his throat, tries again. “Don't push yourself.”

Kurapika’s shoulders tense. “I’m not,” he says, voice thick and clotted.

“Tell me if you need anything.”

“Go away.”

“Bossy,” Leorio mutters, but he gets up anyway, slides the box of tissues on the end table so they’re right beside the couch, by Kurapika’s head. “Here.”

Kurapika doesn’t even look. Leorio sighs, then picks up his jacket and his bag, and heads into his room. He could try to get some studying done, at the very least.

He spends the next hour playing Sugar Smash, textbook open on the floor beside him. He messes up a level that should have been easy, wastes his points on the second and third retries, then grumbles and tosses his phone onto his bed. It’s no use. He can’t focus.

Maybe he just needs a snack.

He heaves himself up and heads for the door, opens it carefully, but there’s no noise and no protest. When he re-enters the living room, Kurapika has retreated into the guest room and the box of tissues is gone. Leorio stands there for a little, eyeing the space where both those things used to be, then heads towards the kitchen cabinets to rummage around for something to eat. Crackers? Boring. Fruit gummies? Too sweet. Can of tuna? Nah, gross. Tuna and crackers? Too much effort.

Ugh. Maybe he’s just thirsty.

He gets himself a glass of water and drinks it slowly. Useful old trick. Even if he is hungry, that’ll hold it off for like half an hour. Maybe he’ll know what he wants to eat by then.

He glances towards Kurapika’s room. Door’s still shut, and he’s pretty sure Kurapika didn’t bother bringing anything else in with him. Probably needs water. Leorio puts his glass down, then fills another and carries it over. He bangs on the door of the study, then calls, “Quit jacking off in there and open up, you need water.”

Footsteps, then the door is flung open and Kurapika is frowning up at him, somewhere between exhausted and offended, and also definitely annoyed. Leorio hands him the glass, and he takes it, scowling. His eyes are red-rimmed, lips a little chapped, shoulders held less level than usual.

He doesn’t lean on the doorframe. Kurapika’s not affected by looming, but that doesn’t mean he likes putting up with it either. “You doing all right? I was kidding about the, uh. Other thing.”

“What I do in here is none of your business,” Kurapika informs him. “Do you need something?”

“It’s my room,” Leorio mutters, but it’s half-hearted, and Kurapika doesn’t even roll his eyes at it. He sighs then says, “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yes.”

Not really an answer, but looks like he’s in a mood. Probably just needs some alone time. “Okay. You need anything else?”

“No.”

“Are you still wearing your,” he makes a quick pass over his chest, “thing? Take it off sometime, you’re gonna mess up your lungs.”

“I’m fine,” Kurapika says, looking up at him and not sounding convincing at all. 

‘Are you really,’ he manages to keep from saying, but just barely. Kurapika is still standing there, like he’s waiting for Leorio to say or do something else, expression wary and tired.

Leorio looks back down at him, mouth dry. He could do a stupid thing, lean down to press his mouth against Kurapika’s, hands on his shoulders or maybe one on his cheek, other at the back of his neck to hold him steady, maybe raking through his hair. Just to give him something. Just to let him know… some other thing. That someone’s there or whatever. Besides, Kurapika kissed him first last time. It’d only be fair.

Still a bad idea though. Not actually fair at all. Kurapika’s already stepped back, and that’s good. Smart of him.

“Well, uh,” Leorio says. “That’s it, then.”

“Then that’s it,” Kurapika echoes slowly, still watching like he’s trying to measure him up, suss him out, strategize to predict his next fifteen moves in advance. Then all the sharpness fades from his eyes and he says, “Thank you for the water,” and shuts the door.

“You’re welcome,” Leorio says, too late. Too bad. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, then heads back to the kitchen. Maybe he just needs some coffee. Coffee and a snack, though he still hasn’t decided on which one. He gets the coffee started, settles in to wait it out. Maybe he’ll know what he actually wants by the time it’s done.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this chapter aside from overall work tags
> 
> Just spent a very nice day off reading everyone's sweet comments <3 Thanks so much for being with me on this ride! We are just about halfway through.
> 
> Reminder: 3 dashes ('---') at the beginning of a section for Leorio; 4 dashes ('----') for Kurapika

They’ve spent the morning sorting through the books in Leorio’s study, choosing which ones need to be moved and which should stay. He doesn’t mention why. Kurapika has assisted him in carrying several selections to his bedroom before he realizes.

“Are you moving these on my account?” he says, setting the latest stack down, but Leorio is already waving him off.

“Don’t worry. I just don’t like to keep bothering you when I need to check on something.”

“It’s your room,” Kurapika says, though he is, perhaps, grateful. But the truth of the matter is that he is the interloper here.

“You need your space,” Leorio says. Then he makes a face and adds, “You’re _really_ cranky when you don’t have somewhere to sulk alone.”

“I’m not sulking!”

“In general! Not like, right this second.”

“Not then, either,” Kurapika says, scowling at him, and Leorio rolls his eyes, pointedly turning towards the stack of books on the floor before him.

“Can you just get the next batch, please?”

“This is the last one,” Kurapika says. “Unless you want to choose a few others?”

Leorio pauses, hands stilling in the middle of separating _General Anatomy_ from _Critical Care: Comprehensive Overview._ Then he says, “Nah, it’s fine,” and returns to sorting them out, frowning at the already overfilled shelf by his bedroom window. Kurapika would not have taken him for a scholar at first glance, and yet.

He stands there for a moment as Leorio pulls one book off his shelf and replaces it with another. In his apartment with no appearances to keep, he’s in sweatpants and T-shirt, hair ungelled, no ludicrously tiny glasses to hide behind. He looks very tired, and very young.

Leorio rubs both hands over his face, then works out a knot in his neck. When he glances back to find Kurapika still standing there, he says, “Need something?”

“No,” Kurapika says, and leaves.

He’s sitting on the couch by the time Leorio finishes and comes out to join him. There’s a rerun of some procedural drama playing. Leorio settles on the couch beside him, waves away the remote when it’s offered.

“You watch this stuff?”

“It was on when I turned on the TV,” Kurapika says.

Leorio eyes him, says again, “You watch this stuff?”

Kurapika sighs and reaches to settle the remote on the low table in front of them. “Sometimes.”

“I think Cheadle actually gets mad at some of the hospital shows because they don’t make any sense. She says they kill people,” Leorio says, leaned against the back of the couch, arms draped over it.

“That’s grim.”

“Right? So is any of this stuff accurate?”

“I wasn’t on that side of things,” Kurapika reminds him.

“Well, I mean the gang stuff.”

“Not quite that side of things either.”

“So you don’t want to talk about the mafia stuff,” Leorio says, and Kurapika says only, “I don’t,” and they leave it at that.

They sit in silence, save for Leorio occasionally commenting on an actor’s hair or a commercial or the efficacy of a particular plot point, none of which really require response. In the middle of an over-dramatized version of an informant deal, there’s a buzzing somewhere between them, and Leorio reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, turns on closed captioning and down the volume on the television before answering.

“Hello? Hey. Yeah, it’s me.”

There’s the vague distant sound of the caller speaking, voice higher than Leorio’s, a more measured cadence. They sound like general pleasantries, or at least don’t run much longer than most general inquiries.

“No, no no. There’ve just been a couple bumps. It’s fine, really.”

The person on the other end speaks for longer this time. No longer pleasantries, probably a more specific line of conversation. Something about ‘classes,’ ‘absence,’ and ‘making up hours.’

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Hang on,” he says, then tilts the receiver away from his mouth to put a hand on Kurapika’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

He rises from the couch and walks towards his bedroom, making his excuses. He could be talking about his coursework. Kurapika decides to lie down on the couch, shuts his eyes. It’s easy to figure out that Leorio is instead talking about him.

“No, now’s still a good time, I just had to clear some things. He’s--” Leorio pauses, then shuts his bedroom door. He doesn’t move away in time though, so it’s muffled but audible when he says quietly, “He’s not doing well.”

Unsurprising. He assumes Cheadle, or maybe another one of Leorio’s advisors. It would be easy to eavesdrop.

He stays on the couch, is dozing when he hears the bedroom door open again. Leorio returns to the living room, shoves Kurapika’s feet off the couch and sits. Kurapika settles his feet over Leorio’s lap, crossing them at the ankles and folding his hands. It’s a matter of principle. Leorio grumbles, but doesn’t push him off.

“Is she upset with you?” Kurapika says quietly.

“Nice try, but it wasn’t Cheadle. And no, not very.”

“Are you,” he begins, then frowns, sitting up slightly. Leorio glances over, raises his eyebrows. “Are you speaking of me to other people?”

“I’m not using your name, if that’s what you’re asking,” Leorio says scornfully, propping his chin in one hand. “Give me a break. I just said it was an emergency.”

“It’s not.”

Leorio snorts. “How else do you want me to get a week off without notice?”

Fair enough. “What kind of emergency?”

“Just an emergency,” Leorio says, suddenly reticent.

Kurapika eyes him, and he only shrugs, leans back against the couch. Fine, then. Kurapika settles back as well, shuts his eyes. It is kind of Leorio to lie for him.

“We’re gonna have guests, by the way,” Leorio says suddenly, without any preamble.

“‘We’?”

“Yeah, you and me. You see anyone else around here? Killua and his kid sister are coming by.”

He frowns. It’s not that he _wouldn’t_ like to see Killua, but all current information on the Zoldycks indicates a family of sons; he has never met or heard of a sister. No matter. Killua can be seen as abrasive, but they’ve always gotten along. They haven’t been in the same room in… years. Presumably, there will be some element of surprise. He may as well try and look forward to it.

\---

Days later, there’s a knock on the door in the late afternoon. Leorio heads over from the kitchen and opens the door, looking down for Killua, then nearly slams the door shut again before realizing the nearly shoulder-high stranger is Killua. Sixteen now, nearly two years after that entire ant disaster and the election.

Kid hit a growth spurt, got some new clothes and a haircut, sides buzzed and left loose and wild up top. He might even be taller than Kurapika now. Killua looks him over as well, then grins, straightening. “I think you’re getting smaller, gramps.”

“Like hell!” Leorio shoots back, knuckles his hair until Killua ducks away. “You’re just growing up.”

The person beside Killua side-steps, dragging her backpack along after her. Leorio glances over as she puts her sunglasses up and stares back at him. She looks more like their creepy older brother, but she’s nearly got Killua’s eyes, just a little darker, and they share the same little pointed chin.

He grins down at her and tries not to loom. “And who’s this?”

Killua puts one arm around her shoulders and pulls her close for a second. “This is my kid sister, Alluka. Alluka, this is Leorio. He’s old and loud, but don’t be scared. He’s really a big pushover.”

“Hey!”

Killua’s sister is laughing, though, face crinkled up and oversized sunglasses nearly sliding off the top of her head as she peers up at him.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she says, standing very straight and sticking out her hand. When he takes it, she shakes it high up and low down, firmly, once.

“Nice,” Killua says, and she beams. “Show him who’s boss.”

“Well, not like it’s _you,”_ Leorio retorts.

Killua sneers at him, but Alluka’s smile only grows broader, and she takes her backpack and suitcase in hand, looking up at Leorio expectantly. He grins back and opens the door wider.

“Good to meet you, too. C’mon in.”

She marches in with her head held high, and Killua follows after, bag slung over his shoulder, wheeling a suitcase behind him. Even with his growth spurt, it’s still nearly half as large as he is.

“Staying prepared?” Leorio says, shutting the door behind him.

“Nah, it’s just full of Alluka and Nanika’s junky souvenirs,” he says, and she sticks her tongue out at him over her shoulder and retorts, “You need the exercise!”

She seems great.

“Put your stuff down wherever,” Leorio says, heading towards the kitchen. “You want anything to eat or drink?”

“Can we get delivery?” Killua says, dropping his bags beside Alluka’s as she _fwumps_ onto the couch with a happy sigh and stretches.

“You _know_ I’m cooking,” Leorio says, scowling at him. “I _told you_ I was cooking!”

“Yeah,” Killua says, looking him right in the eye. “Can we get delivery?”

“No, we can’t get delivery!”

“It smells good, Killua,” Alluka says, already draped over one arm of the couch like a little cat. “I want to try.”

Killua turns, probably to give her a patented Killua look, and she just beams back at him. Leorio bites down a laugh and starts coughing, then turns away to fill a glass to cover it when Killua glares back at him. Does she know Gon? Do they exchange tips?

Killua only takes like five seconds of that smile before he scoffs and says, “Don’t blame me if you get sick!”

With that, he slouches off to start arranging their bags, already casting a judgmental eye around the living room, and Kurapika still hasn’t emerged. Leorio glances at his closed door, then sets out two empty glasses and says, “Make yourselves at home,” before going to knock.

“Come in,” Kurapika says quietly, so he does, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. Sitting at the desk, Kurapika frowns but doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t offer to fix it.

He sits on the bed. “So our guests are here.”

“Your guests,” Kurapika says, hands folded.

Leorio leans back to watch him and says, “You’re part of this.”

Kurapika doesn’t even twitch. “It’s your apartment.”

“What, like Killua’s not your friend too,” Leorio says, and Kurapika just rolls his eyes, swivels away towards the window. “You scared or something?”

“No,” Kurapika says, a little too quickly. “Why would I be afraid?”

Leorio shrugs. “I dunno. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You didn’t get to see him before we left, right?”

“No.”

“What’s that, like, a year and a half? Two? He’s gotten bigger, so brace yourself.”

“I _know_ how--” Kurapika begins, annoyed, then stops and glances towards the door. “Hello?”

Leorio looks as well. It’s weird sometimes, how much Kurapika just picks up on, always on high-alert. He needs to relax. There’s a tap before it swings slightly more open, half of Alluka’s face visible by the doorframe. “Mr. Leorio?”

“Hey, it’s cool, you can open the door,” he says, deciding not to look at Kurapika, who almost definitely does not agree. But Kurapika likes kids. In theory, at least. And in three definitive examples of practice. He can deal.

She does, but waits uncertainly in the doorway, gaze traveling around the study and landing on Kurapika. She hesitates, then gives a little wave, and Leorio glances back just in time to see Kurapika fold his hands together again. He grins, and Kurapika has his shoulders up like he’s been insulted, then quickly turns so he’s looking at the wall.

Leorio looks back at Alluka. “What’s up?”

“I’m very sorry, but where is the bathroom?” she says.

“Second door down,” Leorio tells her. “Door next to this one’s just a closet. Light switch on the right.”

She nods and retreats, leaving the door open behind her. Once she’s gone, Kurapika swivels back, then frowns and tilts his chin towards it. “Would you mind?” he says quietly to Leorio, who rolls his eyes but shuts it. “Who was that?”

“Killua’s sister. I told you they were coming.”

“Sister,” Kurapika says, with a very slight lift at the end, not quite a question.

Leorio eyes him, but Kurapika instead has his gaze fixed on the far wall, towards the living room where Killua is presumably still channel-surfing. “Yeah. I thought you guys talked, at least for that bodyguard thing. He didn’t mention her?”

“He told me to ask you.”

“And then you didn’t.”

“It must have slipped my mind,” Kurapika says lightly, but he’s got a little crease between his eyebrows. Good at dodging questions, terrible at lying.

“Yeah, you’re real forgetful,” Leorio agrees, doesn’t even bother pretending to be sincere. He gets up and heads for the door. “Anyway, at least come say hi before the end of the week. Killua’s probably got a lot to tell you.”

He shuts the door behind him as he enters the main living area again, and Killua glances up, elbow propped on an armrest, remote in his other hand. The volume goes up a few notches on the TV. He waits for Leorio to sit on the other end of the couch before he says, “So?”

Leorio leans back. “So what?”

“So is he okay or what?”

Leorio shrugs, makes a side-to-side gesture. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell,” he says quietly. 

“Huh,” Killua says, tone flat and disinterested, gaze still fixed on the TV. Then he adds, “Gon wanted to come.”

“Oh yeah? That might’ve been nice, the gang all back together again.”

“Didn’t seem like the right time,” Killua says, then glances past him as the door to the guest room opens. “Yo, Kurapika.”

Kurapika hesitates by the TV, and for a second it’s hard not to see what Killua must be seeing. One of the same three shirts he had in his duffel that could use a wash, dirt ground full-in to the knees of his pants, hair definitely finger-combed for the last three days. He doesn’t look good. “Killua,” he says, trying to pretend the pause wasn’t as awkward as it was. “You’ve grown.”

“Funny how that happens,” Killua says without moving at all from the couch, and something in Kurapika’s face relaxes. Guess he would be surprised. He didn’t even see how much Killua grew between the auction and the election.

Then Killua says, “You need a haircut.”

Kurapika smiles and replies, “Like what you’ve done with yours?” and comes to sit on one arm of the couch.

“It’s called ‘fashion,’ get used to it,” Killua’s informing him as Leorio gets up, gestures for Kurapika to move into his spot.

“You can sit. I need to check on dinner anyway.”

“It smells good,” Kurapika says absently, then, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he says normally, in a normal tone.

Killua says loudly, “If you’re going to be gross, we’re leaving.”

“No one’s being gross!”

“If anything, I think you’re laboring under a gross misconception,” Kurapika adds, sitting on the couch.

Leorio trades a glance with Killua, then rolls his eyes.

Killua groans. “Okay, fine, I hate this, you win. Now _both_ of you shut up.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to? Get out of my house, and take your stupid haircut with you.”

“You invited him here,” Kurapika says pointedly, then turns and looks at Killua like he’s just noticed something different. After a moment, he says, “It’s quite a sharp look on you.”

Killua grins, head cocking. “Yeah, I know.”

The door to the half-bath opens, and Alluka comes out, turning off the light and shutting the door behind her. She gives the kitchen a curious glance as she passes, then pauses near the TV to look them over.

Killua flops a hand towards her. “Hey, Alluka. This is Kurapika. I told you about him, remember?”

“Yes,” she says, dragging out the word. She approaches the living room and looks at the couch. There’s the spot between Kurapika and Killua, but she still hesitates.

Killua pats the cushion and says, “You wanna sit?”

“I guess,” she says, but her gaze lands on Kurapika. He edges a little closer to the side to give her a little more space, looking just as uncomfortable as she does.

Leorio glances at Killua, who’s just watching. Kurapika usually likes kids, but this is a special case and he hasn’t said _anything_ about what he saw on the Dark Continent. Not like he was paying attention when Gon wasn’t doing well, though. Maybe it’ll be fine. Or maybe he found out and it’ll be terrible.

Then Kurapika says, “I understand you’ve been traveling,” doesn’t pitch his voice quite as low as he does when meeting most strangers, and an enormous grin breaks out over her face, eyes brightening.

“Yes! I’ve been seeing so much!” she says all in a rush, and darts over to drop onto the couch next to him. She pulls out her phone. “Do you want to see?”

They’ll get along just fine. Leorio checks the time, then stands. “Well, you kids have fun. I’m gonna get started on dinner.”

Kurapika ignores him, but Alluka turns and fixes her big ol’ eyes on him. “Do you need any help, Mr. Leorio?”

He would die for this kid. “Nah,” he says. “Hang out with Kurapika and your bro for a while, okay? Keep them from meddling.”

“Okay,” she says doubtfully.

He gives her a thumbs-up. “I’m counting on you!”

“Okay!” she says, brightening, and gives him a thumbs-up back. He goes to check on the roast.

It’s nice because it looks fancy but it’s not hard at all, not the way his pop does it. Dry rub, rest, hard sear, add the juice, then pop that sucker in the oven and forget about it for a few hours. Coming up on hour four of the forgetting about it part, so he figures it’s just about there. He grabs a ladle and goes to get some of the juice for a sauce.

By the time it’s nearly as thick as he wants it, Alluka and Kurapika have migrated from couch to floor, TV still on though they’re more engrossed in whatever she’s showing him on her phone. Sometimes he hears her laughing, and the low murmur of Kurapika remarking on something, too soft to hear. 

Killua, meanwhile, has wandered over to join him in the kitchen. He said he would help, but so far has just perched on a stool, a counter, inspected the contents of the fridge and pantry, and tasted the sauce on the stovetop several times for ‘quality control.’

Leorio replaces the lid before he can get another spoonful. Killua gives him a disgusted look, then opens the lid to the pot of rice at the back. Leorio shuts that one too, but Killua has already retreated to the chairs on the other side of the island, fingers in his mouth as he grins to himself, dirty spoon clattering in the sink.

“Quit it!”

Killua sticks his tongue out. “Get good, geezer!” he says, then laughs when Leorio huffs and turns back to the stove.

He turns again when there’s a scuffle and a thump, Killua twisting nearly all the way around in his seat. They both watch as Alluka kicks a fallen suitcase clear of the couch, then kneels to unzip it and rummage inside. 

“Whatcha looking for?” Leorio calls, and she glances back, then triumphantly holds up a hair brush and a fistful of colorful hair ties. He looks from her to Kurapika waiting resolutely in front of the couch, legs folded and hands braced on his ankles. “Ah.”

“It’ll be quick,” she assures him, but she could also be talking to Kurapika. She puts aside her fistful and begins rummaging inside the suitcase again.

Killua has relaxed again, half-draped over the back of the chair to watch.

“She’s going for the big guns,” he says, sounding a little surprised. “She must really like him. I mean, she likes pretty much everyone, but this was fast.”

“Yeah, watch out, or we’ll be signing adoption papers soon,” Leorio says, grinning.

Killua tosses him a sneer over his shoulder. “Yeah, right. Hey Alluka! Who do you like more, me or Leorio?”

“Do you hear anything?” she says to Kurapika, who laughs, bright and delighted.

Leorio puts both hands on the tabletop for a moment, takes a breath. It feels like years since he’s heard that. Probably because it has been.

Killua has pivoted all the way around again to give him a flat look, eyebrows raised. Once he’s sure he has Leorio’s attention, he grimaces, then makes a gagging motion with his hands around his neck, tongue lolling.

“What?” Leorio says, starting to scowl.

“Why don’t you just marry him?” Killua hisses across the table.

_“Why don’t you just shut up,”_ Leorio hisses back.

“What do you think they’re arguing about now?” Kurapika says to Alluka, voice pitched to carry.

“Boy problems,” she says confidently, settling herself on the couch behind him, bag of accessories in hand. “Now tilt your head back.”

“It’s not boy problems!” Leorio protests, and Killua laughs at him. He glares back. “I don’t have _boy problems.”_

“Man problems, then,” Alluka says sweetly, then bends to murmur something to Kurapika. Killua is leaned back against the counter, smirking to himself. He probably heard just fine. Stupid assassin training.

“What’d she say?” Leorio demands, and he just grins, then shrugs elaborately.

“I think the light will be better in this direction,” Kurapika is saying to Alluka, turning so he is facing the lamp, back to the kitchen, and she snickers to herself, hands over her mouth.

“Man,” Killua say, surveying them. “She really likes him. I’m going to be replaced.” He heaves a sigh and pretends to clutch at his chest before cupping one hand around his mouth and calling, “Alluka! Nanika! You can stay here now! Have fun with your new big brothers!”

“Maybe we will!” she calls back sing-song, turning to stick her tongue out at him. He sneers back, and she laughs before rolling her sleeves back and picking up her brush with a flourish.

“She’s getting _real_ mouthy,” Killua grumbles, rolling his eyes like he thinks that’ll fool anyone into thinking he’s upset about it.

“Yeah, no idea where she gets that from,” Leorio says, and Killua sneers at him too, then settles his elbows back on the table.

“So what’s new, old man? Not dead yet? You make it back from your boat ride without getting too cursed?”

“Yeah, _somehow,”_ Leorio says, grimacing. “What a shitshow.”

“Hey!” Killua says as Kurapika calls, “Language, please,” from the living room.

“I know what a ‘shitshow’ is!” Alluka yells towards the kitchen.

“That’s not--” Kurapika begins, and she shushes him, she _actually_ shushes him.

“She’s a teenager! Teenagers can swear,” Leorio says. He was joking about the adoption, but he’s not so sure anymore.

“Thirteen’s not a real teenager,” Killua says, scowling. “Thirteen’s like. A baby teenager or something.”

Leorio snorts. “Is that the scientific term?”

“Yes,” Killua says, then rolls his eyes and says, “No. I don’t know. Aren’t you the doctor here? Why don’t you know this stuff?”

“Because it’s _not real?_ Geez, stay in school.”

“Never been,” Killua announces smugly, propping one elbow on the countertop. “School’s for suckers.”

“That explains so much,” Leorio mutters to himself, though it really… doesn’t. All things considered, Killua’s a normal kid. As normal as a kid who passed the Hunter Exam can get, anyway.

Killua points at him and says, “You and Gon are the only ones who went to school. So. Suckers.”

“Gon goes to school?” Leorio says, though he guesses that makes sense. Kinda. Maybe. “Well, I guess he’d have to, huh.”

“Yeah, he’s got homework and other boring stuff to do.” Killua scoffs and cups his chin in his hands. “It’s really dumb. He didn’t have to for a while, but I guess the school got mad at his aunt, so now he has to be homeschooled or something.”

“Geez, you’re up on the goss. So tell me: What’ve I been up to?”

“You were on a boat,” Killua drones, eyes half-shut. “It sucked. Kalluto’s grounded for like twenty years.”

“Oh my god, your bro was on that boat?”

“Both my bros were on that boat, dummy. Illumi and Kalluto. They were with the you-know-who because of that creepy clown.”

Leorio glances over, but it looks like Kurapika didn’t hear. Turns out miracles are real. “I still can’t believe we all got out of that alive. He was neck-deep in shit even before we knew they were there.”

“Oh yeah. Something weird about Nen monsters and protecting a baby, right?” Killua shakes his head. “He really stepped in it that time. So is Kurapika always a sucker for kids or what?”

Leorio shrugs. Not like he got to see Kurapika with his latest adoptee. Too much shit was going down. “Hell if I know. He was pretty fond of you guys, though,” he says, glancing back towards the living room and ignoring Killua’s scowl.

Alluka is humming bright and pop-y to herself as she does something fiddly with Kurapika’s hair, occasionally pausing to make some sort of dance move that must go along with the song. Leorio snorts softly to himself, nods to Killua to catch his attention and jerks his chin towards the living room.

“Good thing you both came by. She’s something, isn’t she?’

Killua’s entire face softens as he glances over as well. No one must’ve told him, otherwise he wouldn’t do it.

“Yeah,” he says, looking back, corners of his mouth tucking up smug and secretive again. “We were in the area, and I figured it couldn’t hurt. The city’s a lot for her, so some downtime is good too.”

“Makes sense,” Leorio says, checking the level of the remaining sauce. Should be fine, but if Killua feels guilty enough, he’ll stop. “Poor kid. How long did your family keep her down there?”

“Years,” he says, and Leorio glances back. All the smugness is gone from Killua’s mouth now, and there’s a slight crackle in the air around him. Across the room, Kurapika looks up sharply as Alluka exclaims in dismay.

“Mr. Kurapika! Please hold still!”

“I’m very sorry,” he says, subsiding as she winds her hands through his hair again, scolding him all the while. He catches Leorio’s eye before he turns away again, expression grim and largely unreadable.

Not really enough time to signal anything else to him. Besides, Killua’s watching him now, pretending like nothing happened and he’s always been this bored, chin propped on one fist.

“Don’t blow out any of my lightbulbs,” Leorio says, frowning at him.

“Whatever,” Killua says, and Leorio grumbles, turning off the heat on the stove, then says, “Any plans while you’re in the city?”

“Tourism!” Alluka calls happily.

“Tourism,” Killua agrees, making a face. Big softie. “There’s some fashion museum she wants to go to.”

“Good!” Leorio says, checking on the rice again. “You need it.”

Killua slaps both hands on the counter to lean over and glare at him. “Ex _cuse you?”_ he demands.

“You heard me. What are you even trying to prove?”

“Like I have anything to prove to _you!”_ Killua says.

“Sure,” Leorio scoffs, then takes some plates from a shelf and holds them out towards Killua. “Can you put these on the table?”

“Do I look like your servant?” Killua says, but he grabs the plates when Leorio pushes them a little more his way. Then he just puts them down on the table when Leorio’s not looking, pushes them way to the far edge where they’re somehow both out of the way and inconvenient to everything.

“Really, man?” Leorio says, turning back with the pot of rice. “Really?”

Killua sneers at him, then grouchily pushes them over to the side, where they won’t be in the way of the food. Then he slumps onto the stool again and swivels towards the living room. “Hey. Time to eat.”

Alluka perks up immediately and stands, then stoops to take Kurapika’s arm and tug him along after her, though he goes without too much resistance. She stops just in front of the kitchen island, then flings her arms up to present him with a flourish.

“What do you think?” she says, beaming. She’s managed to get three little braids into the side of his hair, tucking it away like a side-shave. She did other stuff too, some mysterious makeover things that make his hair less scraggly, smooth out his skin, some other stuff. It’s super-obnoxious that he hardly ever actually needs it, but still, it’s a nice touch.

“I think it looks all right,” Kurapika says guardedly. Alluka gives a little indignant gasp, and he sighs, then says, “It looks very good. Thank you.”

“Sure,” Leorio says. “Looks fine,” he adds, then reaches for a plate and misses.

“Yeah,” Killua says, swatting Leorio’s hand off the table. “Fine.”

“Fiiiine,” Alluka says, elbowing Killua until he hands her a plate, and they laugh.

“It looks fine!”

“Alluka does excellent work,” Kurapika allows, then reaches for a plate. “Shall we?”

Leorio stays clear until he’s out of range, then grabs a plate and starts serving himself. “Yeah, definitely.”

Killua rolls his eyes and gags off to the side and Alluka immediately heaps a giant serving of rice onto her plate, looking smug but not making eye contact. Little brats. Then Killua says, “Hey, me too,” and brandishes his plate as Alluka sniffs and says, “Do it yourself, lazybones,” and plonks the serving utensil right in the center of it.

He shoves his plate back at her. “Take that back.”

“No,” she says, and shoves it back at him. Almost immediately, they’re both elbow-deep in a slapfight. Doesn’t look too serious. Leorio leans on the island to watch.

Kurapika is staring at them half like he wants to join in and half like he wants nothing to do with it. Guy gives off a pretty clear only-child vibe. Leorio catches his gaze, then gives a slight eye-roll. ‘At least we won’t be bored,’ he mouthes over their heads, and Kurapika smiles at that, more resigned than he wanted, but still there. 

Then Alluka says, “How much do you want, Mr. Kurapika?” with a spoonful of rice and Killua grumbling behind her, reaching for some roast to put on his empty plate.

“That will be fine,” Kurapika says. “You don’t have to--”

She yelps as Killua jogs her elbow and dumps the entire heaping spoonful half onto Kurapika’s plate, half over his hands and onto the floor. Kurapika just stares, sorting through all the possible things he could say or do, and meanwhile Alluka has turned and grabbed the collar of Killua’s shirt in one hand, a fresh scoop of rice in the other as she says severely, “Killua, you’re being _really rude!”_

“Whoa, hey--” Leorio starts, but it’s too late. Rice, all down Killua’s shirt and all over the floor as Killua wriggles and yells, Kurapika still standing there with his plate in his hands, taking in the scene, eyes huge, a genuine, helpless smile starting to crack across his face.

Then Killua yells, _“ALLUKA!”_ and lunges for her, and she yelps and ducks behind Kurapika who just turns to get them both out of Killua’s way, holding his plate out to the side to avoid collateral damage.

Leorio figures it’ll take like five more minutes for them to sort themselves out, since Killua’s only going like, one-tenth his usual speed, and starts serving himself, resolutely ignoring the noise behind him. Nope. Nothing to be bored about here.

\----

Kurapika is sitting with Alluka one day, television a low hum in the background as she teaches him a card game of her own devising. She has many, and is eager to share. Once Leorio emerges, however, she looks up, lowering her hand. She likes him. It’s not unexpected. Despite any initial rockiness at the beginning of their acquaintance, children seem to take to Leorio.

“Mr. Oreo?” she says, and he grins at her, nods to Kurapika.

“Just grabbing some things at the store. You guys wanna come with?

“I do!” Alluka says, scrambling to her feet, cards abandoned, and darting to the coat rack.

Kurapika puts his cards down on the table and turns to watch her go, one arm hanging over the back of the couch. Leorio moves before she runs into him, then glances up. “Kurapika?”

“No, thank you,” Kurapika says. The couch is comfortable, the television program not objectionable, and he looks ridiculous in Leorio’s sweatshirt.

“You sure?”

“I’ll just stay here.”

“What’s going on?” Killua says, emerging from the bathroom and drifting towards the door as well.

“We’re getting groceries!” Alluka informs him, buttoning up her jacket. “Or just me and Oreo. Mr. Kurapika’s staying here.”

Killua snorts to himself, then glances at the TV. “I’ll stay too. Groceries are boring. Alluka, be good for Leorio, okay?”

She makes a face at him, reaching to take Leorio’s hand. “Obviously!”

“Obviously,” he agrees, grinning at her before tapping his cheek. “Now can you give your favorite big brother a kiss?”

She stares at him, mulish, then turns and kisses Leorio’s sleeve, just above the elbow. She cackles as Leorio beams, and Killua bristles instantly.

“Hey!”

“I don’t make the rules, bro!” she says, laughing. She ducks away when he tries to noogie her, then hides behind Leorio.

Kurapika pulls his feet onto the couch, folding both arms over the back as he watches. Leorio catches his eye over Killua’s head, then winks and whispers loudly, “I’m the favorite.”

“She just met you!” Killua objects.

“Two days is a long time,” Alluka informs him, peering out at him before reaching to tug on his hair. He scrambles after her, treading on Leorio’s feet in the process.

“Ow! Hey, watch it!”

“You’re wearing shoes, old man!” Killua calls, successfully gets Alluka in a headlock as she shrieks and grabs for his ear. “Ow! Ow ow ow! Alluka! That hurts!”

“Serves you right!” she says, gets ahold of his earlobe and yanks. Smart of her. She must be learning from Killua. “Lemme go!”

“Okay,” Leorio says, seeming to decide that enough is enough. “Guys--”

“Your _finger’s_ in my _ear!”_

“So lemme go!”

“Guys!” He shoots a pleading glance over his shoulder. Kurapika settles his chin on his forearms and shrugs at him, makes no move to get off the couch. Leorio’s more than capable of handling it on his own.

Leorio sneers back, then returns his attention to carefully trying to pry them apart. “Hey, come on… Can you both just…”

Alluka stomps on Killua’s foot as he yells and tries to wriggle away without jeopardizing his hold. “Tell her to cut it out!”

“Tell him to let go!”

“Yeah, okay, that’s it,” Leorio says. “You jerks wanna see a magic trick?”

“Yes?” Alluka says warily as Killua glares and snaps, “No!”

“Great,” he says, then crouches to wrap his arms around them both.

Killua tenses but Alluka still has him by the ear. There doesn’t appear to be any viable escape option for him as Leorio announces, arms tightening, “So let’s turn those frowns,” and rises, turning them over as he stands, _“upside-down!”_

Alluka shrieks with outrage and glee, laughing as Killua tries to glare up at Leorio in the midst of folding bonelessly over to try and make it more difficult for him.

“This is stupid,” Killua says, folded nearly in half, and Alluka says, “You’re stupid!” and reaches to pull off his socks and drape them over his face.

_“Alluka!_ That’s _gross!”_

“They’re your socks,” she retorts. “Maybe you’re gross.”

“Cut it out!” Leorio says, shaking them up and down as Killua groans with boredom and Alluka laughs. “Just make up already! What is _wrong_ with kids today?”

“You seem as though you’re having some trouble,” Kurapika says mildly.

“So help me!”

“No, thank you.”

“If you don’t let me go, I _will_ zap you,” Killua says, still upside-down.

Kurapika sits up fully at that. He hasn’t yet been able to see Killua’s ability in action, hasn’t had or made the opportunity to speak with him about it. If his chosen transmutation is electricity, then it was born of nothing good.

Alluka smacks her brother’s head. “Don’t you dare!”

“My god, no zapping!” Leorio says, but doesn’t let either of them go. “Just say you won’t fight anymore and I’ll let you down.”

“We won’t,” Alluka says, dragging out the vowels. Killua grumbles something largely inaudible under his breath.

“What was that?” Leorio demands, shaking Killua when hoisting him up proves to be too much trouble.

_“Fine!”_

Leorio releases Killua first, who folds as he falls to land neatly on his feet. He takes more care with Alluka, checking to make sure her hands are on the floor before he says, “Okay, ready?” and letting go.

She brings her feet beneath her to land in a crouch and brushes herself off as she straightens, then goes to Killua and holds out one hand. When he takes it, she shakes it up and down, and solemnly intones, “I promise not to fight with you anymore if you don’t fight with me.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, whatever.”

Then she says, “Good!” and pinches his cheek, pulling his face out into a goblin grimace as he yowls and swats her away. 

“Hey!” Leorio says sharply, and Alluka releases him, sighing.

“We’ll be good,” she says.

Killua rubs his face, scowling at her. “Go get your dumb groceries already! And tell Leorio to buy me some chocolate!”

“Nougat?” Leorio says innocently, holding a hand to his ear as Alluka laughs.

“Chocolate!” Killua scolds, glaring up at him, both hands on his hips. “I know you’re not going deaf already!”

“I want nougat,” Alluka says, raising both hands high. Killua glares at her, and she sticks her tongue out at him. “I like nougat.”

“So we’ve got two votes for nougat,” Leorio says, crumpling a reusable bag into his pocket. “Kurapika?”

“Abstain.”

“Three votes for nougat.”

Killua continues to glare at both of them, then heaves a sigh with his whole body, slumping in defeat. “I’ll accept nougat,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Leorio and Alluka caw with laughter and slap their hands together, Leorio holding his hands up to head-height so she has to jump, and beaming when she succeeds. Sometimes he’s just a big child himself.

Killua looks disgusted with the entire turn of events, ducks aside when Leorio tries to ruffle his hair. Leorio just shrugs, then glances down at Alluka and says, “Ready?”

She nods, then takes his elbow again, and they proceed out the door. She turns to wave at Killua, who looks as though he rolls his eyes, but waves back, then shuts the door behind them. He stands at the door a moment longer, then slouches over to the couch and settles on the far end.

“He’s going to buy you chocolate anyway,” Kurapika says.

“Uh, _obviously,”_ Killua says, rolling his eyes. They sit in silence until the next commercial break, then Killua slants a glance towards him. “You doing okay?”

“I suppose.”

Killua scoffs. “Yeah, that just means you’re not. You’re not even keeping in shape, are you? Your aura’s patchy.”

“What would I need it for?”

“I don’t know. Leorio said some guys might be mad at you for whatever you did. What if they find you and you’re not ready?”

Kurapika frowns at the television, mouth setting. “That’s no longer a concern.”

Killua doesn’t respond to that, just watches him intently, then slumps back on the couch. “It’s weird seeing you like this,” he says, looking down at his knees. “I’ll be honest here, I don’t really like it.”

“Sorry,” Kurapika says, tone dry.

“No, you’re not.” Killua sighs, slouching even further, folding his arms. “No wonder you and Gon get along so well. You guys are exactly alike. Hard-headed and reckless.”

Kurapika snorts softly. “I thought those were his best qualities.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Where is Gon now?”

“Searching for a way to fix his Nen. You know. From like a year ago?”

He does. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“Yeah. Well. No big deal,” Killua says, and doesn’t mean it at all. “You did what you had to, I guess. Dunno what you could’ve done anyway.”

Kurapika eyes him, then says, “I suppose you’re right.”

“You’re finished though, right? With your uh. Revenge thing?”

“Yes.”

Killua digests this for a moment, then nods and says, “Congrats.”

“Thank you. I think.”

Killua shrugs, just as uncertain. “It’s whatever. Can I change the channel?”

Kurapika passes him the remote, and he enters an unfamiliar number, then sets the remote on the couch between them. They sit through three gym commercials before it transitions to a stadium of sorts, not completely filled. Perhaps sixty percent capacity.

The camera switches, and an oily man in a colorful leotard flexes at the audience, then at the other oily man across the ring. Wrestling, then.

Killua folds his arms again. “Hey. Call Gon back. When he can’t reach you, he calls me to complain. Then he calls Leorio, who like, has a heart-attack and calls me too, because apparently I’m supposed to be able to get an answer out of you. I don’t know why they think we’re such good friends.”

“It’s mysterious,” Kurapika agrees.

“Because we’re not.”

“I understand.”

Killua spends the next several minutes silently glaring at the wrestling program he’s chosen. When Kurapika glances at him, he refuses to look back, glaring harder at the TV screen, shoulders hunching.

Kurapika looks back at the program, and Killua blurts, “But we are kinda friends.”

Kurapika watches one large man hit another with a chair, doesn’t look over. After a moment, Killua continues reluctantly, “So like as your sort-of friend, I--” He stops, kicks first one foot, then the other, then gives it up. “Listen. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Kurapika glances over, eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

“Don’t be obnoxious,” Killua says, scowling at his knees. “Just tell Leorio if you need anything. He cares a lot about you, and he’s a good guy.” Then he sets his jaw and says quietly, “Not like us.”

There is a little thrill inside Kurapika’s chest, like a sudden blaze of flame along dry kindling. He turns his gaze to the windows, but suspects Killua already knows his eyes have changed. It is good to know he can still be angry. “You’re not to blame for what you were made to do,” Kurapika says, voice low and throat tight. 

“Yeah? What about you?”

His answer is immediate. “I made my decisions.”

“You’re one of the most annoying people I know,” Killua informs him. “And that includes my _entire_ family.”

“Thank you,” he says, and Killua groans, head dropping against the back of the couch.

“Why are you _like this?”_ he demands, then reaches for the remote again and turns the volume up. 

Kurapika winces and holds out his hand. When Killua passes it over without comment, he lowers the volume again. Then he changes the channel and shoves the remote into the space between the arm of the couch and the cushion.

“Hey!” Killua protests, starting up from the couch, swivelling so he can glare.

Kurapika arranges himself over the couch arm and raises his eyebrows back. Killua could retrieve it, they both know. It may just take a little more effort than he’d like. They consider each other across the length of the couch.

_“Ugh,”_ Killua says finally, hurling himself back on the couch. “News. I can’t believe you’re so boring. Can’t you at least change it to like, a game show or something?”

“No.”

“Pundit news?”

“Absolutely not.”

“‘The Bachelor’?” Killua says, expression carefully bland, as though he were just testing.

“Never,” Kurapika says firmly.

“Jerk.”

“If you say so.”

“You’re _so annoying.”_

Kurapika smiles at him, small and pleased. “Thank you.”

_“Ugh,”_ Killua says, sinking into the couch, presumably to sulk. He is, evidently, leaning into the everyday troubles of being a teenager. Sensible of him.

Kurapika does not remark on it, though Killua turns out to have several choice remarks on the news anchors’ hairstyles, outfits, diction, and the events themselves. Not all strictly fair or accurate, he thinks, but amusing for it. Perhaps later, he will hand over the remote, or change it himself to a daytime gameshow. For now, though, this is sufficient.

\---

Alluka’s chatty the entire way back, despite the five pieces of nougat she manages to cram in her mouth at any given point in time. She’s on her third handful by the time they get to the elevators, comes running up from leaving some at the concierge’s desk as the doors open, pockets spilling wrappers.

“You have a dentist?” Leorio says as she crouches to pick up some fallen wrappers, then, “Hey, can you press the button?”

She stands and shoves the wrappers in a pocket, then presses the button, chewing determinedly as the elevator doors ding shut. “Mmrph,” she says, then chews again.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he says, grinning at her, and she grins back, teeth gunked together. Then she chews furiously, and gulps, and says, “What’s a dentist?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to talk to Killua about that one,” he says, and she makes a face. “A dentist is like a doctor, but for your teeth.”

“Hmm,” she says, sounds unconvinced. She covers her mouth to pick at something in her back molars, then lowers her hands and announces, “Teeth don’t need doctors.”

“Uh, yeah? They kinda do?”

“I don’t think so,” she says, and the elevator dings to a stop, doors opening. 

Leorio gets out, leaning his shoulder against the doors for her, but she doesn’t exit immediately. Instead she glances up and down the hallway, then strolls out once she sees no one else is there. Probably something Killua taught her. He walks next to her, shifts the groceries so all the bags are in his right hand, and she takes his left, swinging it a little. They’ve still got another turn or so before they’re at his apartment.

“Anyway, remember what we talked about.”

She heaves a sigh, rolling her eyes and beginning to drag her heels.

“Hey, don’t do that. He’s just looking out for you.”

“He doesn’t know how to do things on his own,” she complains. “It’s always ‘Alluka, what do you want to do today?’ ‘Alluka, does this sound fun?’ ‘Alluka, I heard about something you might like, let’s go.’ ‘Alluka, what does Nanika want to do?’ Nanika just wants hugs, and Killua just wants candy and videogames, and I never get to meet new people or go anywhere on my own.”

He shrugs. “Well, that’s for safety, right?”

She stops right in the middle of the hallway, snatching her hand back and scowling up at him. “I’m safe! I know what I’m doing, and Nanika doesn’t take orders from anyone else now, and we’re fine!”

“Yeah, I know. You’re a super-powered kid, just like your bro.”

“No!” she says fiercely. “I’m! _Stronger!”_

“Whoa,” Leorio says, makes a hushing gesture with his free hand. “Maybe keep it down?”

She just glares back at him. “I am!” she insists. “I have Nanika, and she has me! I know you and Mr. Kurapika think she’s scary, but she’s fine. Really.”

“Well,” he says uneasily, and she’s already scowling. “Hey, no, lemme think for a little.”

“There’s nothing to think about! I’m Nanika, too! And she’s part of me! We’re Alluka _and_ Nanika!”

“I know,” he says, crouching a little, putting his hands out flat before him, palms up. “Yeah, I know.”

Alluka just looks at them, mouth pressed flat, then says, “It’s fine if you don’t like me now.”

“Hey, what?” 

“It’s _fine,”_ she says. “I know I’m dangerous!”

“Hey,” Leorio says soothingly. “Most of my best friends are dangerous.”

“Not like me,” she says.

“I dunno,” Leorio says. “Your bro has this thing-- Well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

That just makes her mad. Well. Madder. “I _know_ what my family does! And I’m telling you I can do _more!”_

“Yeah?”

_“Yes!”_ she snaps, then sniffs and scrubs at her eyes with the heel of a hand. Sulkily, she says, “I’m crying because I’m angry. I’m not sad.”

“That’d be fine, too,” he says, and the hallway is really _not_ the place for this conversation, but inside the apartment really isn’t an option. Killua would flip, and Kurapika would flip, but like in a pissier way, and nothing would get finished.

“I’m _mad!”_ she says again. “I shouldn’t be here. Killua doesn’t say anything but I think I’m putting people in danger.”

“I guess,” he says. Killua hasn’t said much, but he’s been awful cagey about his family for years, the entire time since they’ve met. Family of assassins, okay. Everyone’s horrifyingly dangerous. Makes sense. Hard to tell if it’s better or worse than Kurapika running off to join the mob. Not really worth making the comparison, though.

She has her mouth set so it won’t wobble, shoulders up, glaring at the floor. Then she heaves a sigh bigger than her whole body and says quietly, “I just want to make friends, too.”

These kids are gonna ruin him. He pats her shoulder just once, mostly to get her attention, then says, “Well, you have my number now too, okay? You call me whenever. Maybe you can come visit on your own sometime.”

She’s looking up at him doubtfully. “That sounds okay. Can I call Kurapika?”

“He might not pick up, but you can try.”

“Okay,” she says, but she doesn’t cheer up any. Might be on the edge of a sulk.

“Don’t take it personal,” he advises. “He’s just like that sometimes.”

She watches him carefully, then says, “Is he going to be okay?”

He can’t lie to her now. He sighs, and settles on what he knows for sure. “Hard to say. I hope so.”

“Is he scared of Nanika, too? Because of the trip you took?”

He grimaces. ‘Trip’ makes it sound like some little getaway they planned just for fun. Not like she meant it, though. “I don’t know. But I think maybe now’s not the best time for them to meet.”

“But one day?” she says, staring up at him, jaw set. It’s not a request; it’s an ultimatum.

“I really,” he says, then stops. “Kid. Alluka. I really hope so.”

She looks unconvinced, but says, “Okay.” Her eyes go distant for just a moment, then refocus. “Nanika says it’s okay. She doesn’t understand,” her scowl becomes ferocious, “but she says it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, is suddenly, staggeringly sad. It’s not like him, this kind of hesitation. He tries to straighten up, square his shoulders, but she isn’t buying it. 

“It’s fine,” she says, then takes his hand tightly and pulls him along. “I can forgive you later.”

Kurapika and Killua are watching TV when they re-enter the apartment, Killua putting his usual commercial heckling routine on hold as they take their shoes off by the door.

“Look,” Alluka demands, digging in one of the grocery bags before Leorio can even put them down, nearly setting him off-balance.

“Whoa, hey!”

She re-emerges from the bag and announces, “It’s an entire pound of chocolate,” holding it over her head like a trophy. 

Killua launches himself over the back of the couch, Kurapika glancing over his shoulder after him then turning back to the TV. There’s a little crackle and suddenly Killua is by the door, shaking static out of his hair and grinning down at the giant chocolate bar in his hands as Alluka says, “Cheater!” and swipes at him.

_“Hey,”_ Leorio says, warning, and she just rolls her eyes.

Killua starts unwrapping the chocolate bar and is pretending to be uninterested because, well. Not necessarily because he’s predictable, this is still Killua after all. But mostly because he’s Killua, and he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s basically a marshmallow, even if he is a murderer. Ex-murderer. Probably. Who knows.

“It’s mine anyway,” Killua says, holding the bar out of reach behind his back when Alluka swipes at him again. “Kurapika said so.”

“This isn’t my doing,” Kurapika says immediately, not turning to meet Alluka’s glare. “I had no part in this.”

Leorio chuckles, and she turns her glare on him. “Mr. Oreo,” she says slow and fierce, and he holds up his hands.

“Hey, I didn’t text anyone the whole time. Also, you came off a little strong on the nougat thing, huh?”

“It was _supposed_ to be a surprise.”

“Surprise,” says Killua, making a little ‘ta-da!’ gesture. Then he takes another bite of the chocolate and grins. “Thanks, I love it.”

“Well,” she says grudgingly, still glaring. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Looks like she’s mostly over her funk. Or doing a good job of pretending. Leorio risks it and nudges her. “And?” he prompts.

She rolls her eyes and heaves a sigh. Leorio nudges her again before heading towards the kitchen, and she heaves another sigh, longer this time, then duly recites, “I’m sorry for making fun of you, and you’re the best big brother in the whooole wooorld.”

“Yeah, you’re a pretty okay little sister,” Killua says, mouth full of chocolate, then laughs when she stomps forward to punch him on the arm. He puts an arm around her shoulders and offers her the bar.

She eyes it, then turns her head to take an enormous mouthful and saw at it with her back teeth as Killua yelps, then tries to pull the bar back again. “Don’t slobber all over it! You’re making it melt!”

Grinning, Alluka yanks the bar away from him and continues to gnaw. Kurapika’s turned to witness the fuss, settled in with both arms folded over the back of the couch, but doesn’t seem like he’s going to do anything about it anytime soon. Lazy ass. Putting away groceries, Leorio calls, “I _will_ put you both in the dishwasher if you fight again!”

“Yeah, try it, old man!”

There’s a gigantic crack, and Alluka spits a huge wedge of chocolate into her hand before shoving the bar back at Killua. “We wouldn’t _fit,”_ she informs Leorio. Then she looks Killua right in the eye and starts to nibble on her chocolate.

Killua is regarding the bite mark with dismay. Goofy kid. There’s so much left it’s hard to tell anything even got taken off. “Alluka, it’s all wet and gross now.”

She shrugs at him, then digs in her pocket to offer him something small and wrapped in plastic. “Nougat?”

Leorio shuts the last cabinet, then heads towards the couch. He leans against the back next to Kurapika. “Smiling, huh?”

“Am I?” Kurapika says, frowning down at his hands.

“Hey, no, don’t get self-conscious about it,” Leorio says, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Looks good on you.”

Kurapika settles his chin in the crook of one elbow, slides further aside on the couch. Killua, meanwhile, is muttering something to Alluka, and she laughs, putting her hands over her mouth.

“What?” Leorio demands.

_“Nothing,”_ they chorus back, Alluka laughing again as Killua grins down at her.

“Kids,” he says scornfully, glancing at Kurapika for some back-up, but Kurapika’s staring out the windows now. Probably just ran into a mental wall again. That’s fine. They can be kind of a lot.

He settles a hand on Kurapika’s shoulder. “Go rest up if you’re tired.”

Kurapika stays perfectly still, doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. Then he silently gets up, sliding out from under Leorio’s hand, and goes to his room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Leorio turns to watch him go, then glances at the kids; maybe they have a different take.

Alluka is staring at the closed door, head cocked very slightly, like she’s listening for something difficult to hear. Meanwhile, Killua is looking back at him with an expression like he’s seen a ghost, features slack, mouth uncertain, eyes haunted. Alluka turns to look at her brother, and he blinks, then gives himself a little shake before diving onto the couch and rummaging around in the cushions.

“Great!” he says, emerging with the remote, and changes the channel. “My turn.”

\---

Alluka kicks them out of the living room around 11, claiming a need for a full night’s rest. They retreat to Leorio’s room with their drinks and snacks, and shut the door.

Killua sits on the floor right away. “Poker?”

Leorio finishes putting down the snacks and scowls at him. “You’re going to cheat.”

“How about this? If you catch me cheating, that’s a win for you.”

Leorio eyes him, then pulls the deck out of his pocket and sits, starts to shuffle. “You’re on.”

“You’re slow. Let me shuffle.”

“No!”

Killua sticks his tongue out. “Coward.”

Leorio cuts the deck, begins to deal. “You’re not cute, you brat.”

Killua rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh, then presses his hands to his face and repeats back mockingly, _“‘You’re not cute, you brat.’”_

“Quit it.”

_“‘Quit it,’_ I’m _Leorio_ and I’m _old_ and _don’t know how to have fun anymore.”_

“Just take your cards already!”

They play until Killua announces, “I’m tired of winning. Can we do something else?”

“If you’re so tired, how about you go to sleep?” Leorio retorts.

“Not sleepy,” Killua says.

“Why don’t you try,” Leorio says, scowling at him, but Killua just grins to himself and rearranges his cards, then folds.

“I’ll take it easy on you this once. How about we watch a movie?”

Leorio checks his clock. Kind of late, but it’s not like Killua comes around often. “Sure. What kind of movie?”

“I don’t care. It’s not really a big deal.”

“Well, you pick.”

Killua eyes him, then says sullenly, “You can’t make fun of me.”

Oh? This should be good.

“What do your dumb kids watch… you know. The ones you like. Take care of or whatever.”

“My _patients?”_

“You don’t have any,” Killua responds promptly. “Yeah, your dumb doctor patient kids.”

“I swear to god, you are really pushing your luck, buddy.”

Killua makes a hand puppet to gabble along for the last few words, then drops it and says, “Yeah, so what’re they watching? What’s good?”

“There’s a new robot movie, the special effects looked pretty good.”

“Pass,” Killua announces. “What else?”

“Uh, another musical thing came out.”

“Pfffffft. Alluka knows all the songs. What else?”

“I guess there’s that new animated thing with like. Magic or whatever… Looked kinda hokey, though.”

“Sounds dumb,” Killua says, then kicks his ankle until Leorio gets up to go find his laptop. “Turn it on.”

He gets misty-eyed pretty much as soon as the opening credits start, then jogs Leorio’s elbow in the middle and says, “Pay attention!”

“Wuh,” Leorio manages, and rubs his face. “Wha?”

“Don’t fall asleep and snore, old man! You’ll ruin the best part.”

Leorio finishes rubbing his eyes, then yawns and says, “So how many times have you seen this before?”

“None. Shut up.”

“Sure,” Leorio says, and leans back against his bed. Then he blinks and frowns. “Hey, that fucker couldn’t do that before, could he?”

“You _missed it, you useless giraffe,”_ Killua hisses at him. “He had to learn to get past the security like thirty minutes ago, keep up!”

“Can’t he just do the teleport thing?”

_“No!”_

“Whatever,” Leorio says. “Why don’t you just tell me how it ends?”

“Why don’t you just shut up!”

Leorio yawns and slouches back. So there was some sort of heist, and then something about an artifact, and now the music’s really dramatic and there’s some sorta tension between these two characters. Hard to tell what kind, since they’re just like. Tiny kid characters, but definitely something.

Something flashes on-screen, and he sits up and squints. “Hey, are these kids using Nen?”

Killua groans. “No, it’s just magic! No one’s supposed to know what Nen is anyway, stupid.”

“What about the mafia?”

Killua waves a hand dismissively. “Mafia’s different, they have access to all sorts of info. It’s more like it shouldn’t be common knowledge. Then everyone would want to learn Nen.”

“So what’s wrong with that?” Leorio says, frowning. “It takes training to use. Seems unfair to just block it off unless you pass some shitty test.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Killua says, then pours himself more juice. Kid plays tough, but he loves to talk. “Can you imagine if a million you’s tried to learn Nen all at once? It’d be a nightmare.”

“I’m learning fine!” Leorio says, stung. He learns pretty good!

“Your Zetsu’s still garbage and I heard the last time you tried En, they had to redo the entire room.”

Leorio gapes at him, then says, “Tell Gon he’s a snitch!”

“Wow, tell him yourself,” Killua says. “Anyway, there just aren’t enough teachers. It’d be mayhem.”

“Shouldn’t the Hunter Association focus on training more teachers then?” Leorio says, then reaches for the chips. It’s not a super-serious question. He’s asked Cheadle, and she couldn’t give him a good answer. Or at least one that actually felt like a good answer. Felt more like she’d been tired of chewing it over with Pyon than like she actually wanted to think about it again.

“Who’s gonna sign up to teach some randos you’re not sure are worth teaching?” Killua demands. “Didn’t it take Kurapika forever? And that was all he did, Nen stuff. Me and Gon spent _months_ with Bisky. Who has that time?”

“Still doesn’t seem fair,” Leorio says, mouth full. “I dunno, shouldn’t we let people have time? If we’re gonna have superpower magic whatever running around. Maybe it should be easier.”

“I don’t know!” Killua says, frustrated. “It’s complicated and this stuff is boring. I’m watching the movie.”

Leorio’s silent for a minute then says, “All right, but what if we folded it into public education--”

“Oh my god, I don’t care.”

Okay, fine. He focuses on the screen again, passes Killua the chips when he motions for them. He thought they were already at the final battle, but it looks like there are still a few more scenes to go. One of the characters got an outfit swap. Interesting.

When they come back on screen, he says, “Don’t you think that guy looks like Kurapika?”

“What? No. It’s a cartoon. You’re just gay.”

“Shut up! It does! They have the same haircut and everything.”

Killua eyes him, then says, _“Really_ gay.”

“Shut up!” Leorio says again, then mutters, “You’re one to talk.”

“Whatever,” Killua says, folding his arms and sliding down towards the floor. Then he kicks Leorio’s knee. 

“Ow, hey!” Leorio says, folds his knee up to rub it.

“That’s for being a useless homosexual.”

“ _Bi,_ thanks. And did I _ask?”_

“Him out?” Killua says, raising his eyebrows. “Maybe you should.”

“Stop projecting,” Leorio says, and Killua kicks him again, harder this time. “Ow! Okay, that one hurt.”

“Good!”

They get past the ending, something about the power of friendship, no one’s alone, blah blah, one of the bad guys switches sides at the last second and sacrifices everything because he got attached or whatever. Then the cleanup where everyone gets maybe not exactly what they’re looking for, but whatever it is they actually needed the whole time. The credits start to roll.

“Wipe your face, that’s disgusting,” Killua says, and shoves a corner of his bedsheet at him.

Leorio shoves it back and wipes his face on his shirt instead, blows his nose.

Killua recoils in the middle of wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “You’re not gonna _sleep in that,_ are you?!”

“You were gonna make me do it on my sheets!”

“I didn’t know you were gonna get your boogers everywhere!”

“Go,” Leorio says, and motions somewhere behind him to the right. “Tissues over there, near the lamp.”

“Get them yourself! Do your like. Portal-thingy.”

Leorio cranes around to take a better look at the distance and positioning. Not like he really needs them anymore, but…

He punches the side of his bed and knocks his lamp onto the floor as the box of tissues goes flying across the room, then thumps against his door. 

“Shit!” he says, and Killua rolls onto the floor, laughing. Leorio gets up to go survey the damage. Looks like there’s a crack. Might still work. Shame, though. “Man, I liked that lamp.”

“How the hell did you survive the Dark Continent,” Killua says, gasping.

“The angle was wrong! I did other stuff.”

Killua just cackles, then goes to pick up the box of tissues and blow his nose. He tosses the box at Leorio, who snags one, then puts it back on the nightstand. “Tell the truth, old man. How many times did Kurapika have to save your ass?”

Leorio stills. “None,” he says, then wipes his nose and drops the tissue in the trash. “We were on different teams. I didn’t see him that whole time.”

There’s a pause, then a crinkle as Killua does something with one of the empty chip bags. Then he says, “Want something to drink?”

“God, yeah,” Leorio says, coming back around the bed and setting the trash can down in front of them. He sits. “Whiskey, neat.”

Killua shoves the wadded-up chip bags into the trash. “I’ve got grape juice and orange, you lush.”

“Grape’s fine.”

Killua refills his cup for him, hands it over. Leorio accepts it, then grins and says, “You’re getting to be a big softie in your old age, huh?”

“Don’t push it, geezer,” Killua says warningly.

He laughs, but Killua doesn’t say anything else, just refills his own mug and looks down at it, expression unusually serious. Then he says, “Hey,” both hands around his mug. “Take care of him. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Killua turns his mug around, then puts it down and mutters, “Gon would be so upset if something happened to him.”

“Yeah,” Leorio says heavily. “He would.”

Killua takes a drink, then shifts so he’s sitting cross-legged. “Anyway, I think we’re gonna head out in the next few days. You gonna be okay?”

Leorio shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Well. Call, I guess. Don’t be like him,” Killua adds, jerking his chin towards Kurapika’s room.

“As if!” Leorio says, then slumps back against the bed. “Give me some credit.”

“You should seriously just ask him out already.”

“Oh, sure,” Leorio says, rolling his eyes. “‘Hey, you turned me down before and you just finished burying your family, want to talk about that again?’ Yeah right.”

Killua perks up, grin stretching across his face. “Hang on, _what?_ You _asked? And he turned you down?”_

“None of your business!” Leorio snaps. It’s late. He said way too much. “It’s complicated!”

“It’s _definitely_ my business, I have a _lot_ of jenny riding on this one--”

“Are you _betting on this?_ You can’t just-- Who are you even betting _with?”_

“Mm, none of your business,” Killua says, sitting back and folding his hands behind his head. Then he sticks his tongue out at Leorio and says mockingly, “I’d say be careful or your face will stick like that, but it’s too late for you!”

Leorio groans and shuts his laptop. It’s too late for _this._ “Go to sleep, you brat! I have class tomorrow!”

“Lame,” Killua announces, getting to his feet. He picks up his mug, then turns it over slowly before sidling over to nudge Leorio’s shoulder with his knee. “Take care, old man.”

“Yeah,” Leorio says, glancing up. “You too.”

Killua just shrugs, mouth pulling to the side, then slips out to the living room, silently shutting the door behind him. Leorio stays where he is, feeling… heavy. Or heavier than usual. Weirdly unsettled in his own skin, like it’s not the right shape for him anymore. That’s just sad bullshit he doesn’t have time for right now, though.

He sighs, and heaves himself up to go get ready for bed. Class is in six hours and he skipped the reading; he’s gonna need all the help he can get.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this chapter aside from overall work tags

It’s quiet when they leave. Not bad, but still a little eerie for the first day or so, coming home to find the apartment quiet, with the couch empty and no new dishes in the sink, no Alluka and Killua fighting over the remote or laughing about some new piece of gossip or just sitting quietly together, still somehow pulling Kurapika into their orbit.

Kurapika banishes himself to his room again once they’re gone, only comes out to the living room if he’s watching TV or sleeping on the couch. It almost feels like all three (four) of them have left.

At least he can always try bothering Kurapika. In theory, at least. As long as he’s actually in the apartment. Leorio got him a spare key a while ago, but it seems like he hardly ever uses it.

Killua just says, “Yeah, he goes to the park sometimes,” then, “Wait your turn,” presumably to Alluka. Now that he’s listening, Leorio can hear her voice in the background.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he took us one time. You were at class or something. Remember, Alluka had that balloon-thing and wouldn’t shut up about it? Ow! Alluka!”

“It was a great balloon-thing!” she says, then there’s some scuffling noises. They stop pretty quickly though, and much clearer, she says, “Hi Leorio!”

“Hey kid! How’re things? It’s so quiet here without you.”

“Are you saying I’m noisy?” she scolds, then ruins it by laughing at the end.

“Yeah, you’re a real troublemaker.”

In the background, Killua says, “Alluka! I wasn’t finished!”

“Too bad!” To Leorio, she says, “We had a very nice time, thank you for hosting us.”

“Hey, come back anytime.”

Killua takes the phone again. “You have vacation in a month, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, cautious. Killua doesn’t just pick up information unless he thinks it’s useful or he can rub it in somehow. “Did you look up my class schedule or something?”

Killua just says, “Gon’s heading back to his aunt’s then. He says Whale Island is really nice this time of year.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Killua says, then adds snidely, “So why don’t you just take your stupid honeymoon there already?”

“Listen here--” Leorio begins, but then Alluka says firmly, “Mr. Oreo, I don’t think it’s the right time to get married.”

“Thank you! Alluka, I agree completely--”

“You both have to admit you’re in love before you can get married.”

Killua whoops in the background as Leorio chokes because he can’t decide what to say first. He puts his back to the door of the library phone booth. The staff can’t shush him if he can’t see them. Finally, he manages, trying not to wheeze, “Alluka, put Killua on the phone right now.”

“Yeah, what?” Killua says after a slight scuff. “Had a heart attack, old man?”

_“Killua, tell her she’s grounded!”_

“Haha,” Killua says, and Leorio can _hear_ the cocky little smirk. Then he says, distant like he’s moved the phone, “Hey Alluka and Nanika, want ice cream for breakfast?”

_“No!”_ Leorio says as Alluka says distantly, _“Again?”_

“Aye,” something-- someone else says, and Leorio freezes. It doesn’t sound right. The voice quality isn’t right, even over the phone, and there’s something deeper lurking behind it. He knows that kind of voice.

He tilts the phone up slightly and takes a deep breath, then brings it back and says, “None of you deserve ice cream, but I’m gonna leave you to it. And remember what I said about the dentist.”

“Quit sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Killua says, rude as usual. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Nah,” Leorio says. “Good talking. Thanks for the tip.”

“Sure,” says Killua, and hangs up as Alluka says something in the distance. Probably ‘Good-bye’ or something, because at least one of them has manners.

Leorio unfolds himself from the cell phone booth. There’s almost never a line, which is great, but also calls with Gon can go either way with taking five minutes or nearly an hour. Better not to risk it. He collects his stuff and heads out of the library; there’s a cafe a few blocks down that usually has a quiet corner this time of day.

Gon picks up immediately. Some days, he’s almost as bad as Kurapika, but at least he actually calls back. It’s not really his fault. Usually his phone’s just crammed at the very bottom of his bag, or he’s had it on silent for three days chasing something down, or it just ran out of batteries and he didn’t bother bringing a spare charge pack.

They hash it out in about half an hour, despite some connectivity issues on Gon’s end. Lot of interference, and he relocates like five times to try and find somewhere ‘out of the wind.’ Kid went off on another big adventure and promises photos soon, plus an update after he calls his aunt and checks in with her. Sounds like fun but also completely exhausting. Gon’s checking in with Mito and will call back. Their best bet is to keep it from Kurapika until right before; he’ll just find a way to weasel out if they give him any time or opportunity. Besides, Leorio’s got tests coming up. No point in getting distracted.

He finishes his coffee and packs up. Back to the library to get a few books he needs, then back home. It’s nearly time for dinner.

\---

Midterms are over, and he’s pretty sure he made it through. He did fine on the practice questions, and the last three times he had Kurapika quiz him, he usually ended up with about ninety to ninety-five percent, or whatever Kurapika was doing to keep track.

He gets a sixteen pack of cupcakes from the supermarket, because he deserves cupcakes, then heads home.

When he arrives, the door to Kurapika’s room is open for once. Or at least slightly ajar. Leorio plops the cupcakes on the counter, then all the rest of his shit on the floor, and stretches before heading over.

“Coming in,” he announces, then swings the door open. Kurapika doesn’t even twitch, just keep watching the city skyline. “Snacks on the counter. I finished midterms.”

“And?”

Leorio shrugs. “I think I did all right, but mostly I’m glad they’re over. Thanks again for the help.”

“You’re welcome,” Kurapika says, still doesn’t turn away from the window.

Leorio leans on the doorframe. Gon sent over an itinerary like three weeks ago and tickets are all set. “Anyway, want to see Gon?”

Kurapika straightens, swiveling towards the door. “He’s here?”

“Ah, no,” Leorio says, somewhat sheepishly. Maybe he shouldn’t have led with that. Casually, he says, “I mean, he’s invited us to Whale Island, and I’ve got a vacation coming up, so…”

“So you’re going.”

“And I got your tickets.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to go.”

“Honestly slipped my mind. And I just thought, you know, we haven’t been together in a while,” he says, then hastily amends, “With Gon, I mean.”

Kurapika doesn’t seem to notice. “I’d like to see Gon,” he says, folds his hands one over the other.

“Great! We leave Friday.” When Kurapika gives him a look, he scoffs and says, “Like you had plans.”

“I might have.”

“But you didn’t. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“It might,” Kurapika says slowly, like he’s convincing himself. Good thing too. Gon’s waiting on stand-by, ready to call and guilt him into it, but Kurapika would definitely figure it out then and get contrary.

He holds his breath until Kurapika says, “Fine, then.”

“Great,” Leorio says, thumps the doorframe and straightens. “Pack light. It’s warm out there.”

“I recall,” Kurapika says, almost mocking. Not mean enough, though. Kinda lukewarm.

“Sure, smartass.”

Kurapika just glances up at him, starts to say something then gives it up, like he’s surprised but doesn’t know how to show it. Then he says, “I do remember, is all I meant.”

“Oh,” Leorio says, embarrassed. Whoops. Way to be a dick. “Well. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

Kurapika eyes him, then says pointedly, “Don’t you have something better to be doing? Celebrating, perhaps?”

“Yeah,” he says, backing out of the doorframe and leaving it open behind him. “I guess I do.”

He gets two steps away before he turns around and says, “Hey, I’m getting drinks with some friends, if you wanna join?”

“No, thank you,” Kurapika says, already back to looking out the window. “Go enjoy yourself.”

Okay then. He turns away to head back towards the kitchen when Kurapika adds quietly behind him, “You deserve it.”

He stops where he is. If he looks back, Kurapika’s still gonna be looking out the window, nonchalant, no big deal. It’s true though. Kurapika’s right. So. No big deal, right?

“Thanks,” he says, and doesn’t look back. He heads to his room to get ready.

\----

The voyage is uneventful. The train ride is long, the ferry relatively short. Leorio insists they sit on the deck, and Kurapika has no reason to protest. Once they are settled, Leorio produces an extra pair of sunglasses from somewhere in his bag and says, “Here.”

Kurapika glances up, then points to the top of his head. He already has sunglasses. They’re serviceable.

“They’re too big for you,” Leorio says, then switches them out.

Kurapika refrains from rolling his eyes, instead settles back in his seat to enjoy the ocean breeze. Then he glances over to Leorio. “Will you keep watch?”

For an instant, it looks as though Leorio will argue, say something incredulous, possibly mocking, leaving him an opening so they can continue on as they often have, some form of argument or conversation, just to get him to speak. Sometimes it’s on purpose; other times just a function of who he is. Either way, he does not this time, instead shuts his mouth, then says, “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

Kurapika shuts his eyes and tries to relax, though it is difficult. Such an open deck. It’s hard to shake his old habit of vigilance. Not that he’s ever tried.

Leorio sighs and fidgets in the seat beside him, starts to tap his fingers. Kurapika has almost resolved to ignore it when he starts drumming them instead, which is intolerable. He swats his hand down over Leorio’s, turning to glare at him.

“Oh, sorry,” Leorio says. “My bad.”

Kurapika lifts his hand, but Leorio only begins tapping again almost immediately. This will only escalate if allowed to continue, so Kurapika swats his hand down again and keeps it there, glaring back when Leorio glances at him, surprised and dismayed. He should know what he’s done.

Kurapika keeps his hand there and shuts his eyes. If he takes it away, Leorio will only start again. After a few minutes, Leorio makes a slight motion, trying to lift two of his fingers, and Kurapika presses his hand down again. Leorio waits, then his hand shifts again then stills, as though he nearly turned his hand then decided against it. Good.

He must be dozing by the time Leorio carefully slips his hand away, rouses briefly to wonder at his own carelessness, then gives it up. He has the ocean to the right of him, Leorio to the left. No one else on the ferry has any aura to speak of. If there is a situation, at least Leorio will be able to assist him. He shuts his eyes, arms folding, and tries to rest again.

The first hour manages to pass in relative peace before Leorio shakes him. “Kurapika, look,” he says, then points over the railing. “Dolphins.”

Kurapika raises his sunglasses and leans over, then stands.

There is indeed a pod of dolphins alongside the boat. They are leaping in and out of the water, occasionally over each other, their calls high and nasal and sometimes repeating. One leaps, does a full rotation for the sheer joy of it, then splashes back into the water to a chorus of appreciation from boat passengers and pod members alike.

Even Leorio claps briefly, then says, “Wonder what that’s all about.”

“They frequently enjoy playing in the wake of passing ships. It’s like a game to them.”

“Huh.” Leorio has joined him at the railing to watch, sunglasses slipping down his nose. Then he pushes them up again and straightens, says, “You think they eat hot dogs?”

“I wouldn’t try it.”

“That makes one of us,” Leorio says, and Kurapika frowns at him.

“Do not feed the dolphins hot dogs,” he says, but Leorio only laughs, leans in as though to share a private joke.

Then he stops, face stilling, and draws back suddenly. Hurriedly, he says, “Anyway, want a soda or something?”

“No, thank you.”

“Sure. Okay. Well, I need a, uh, drink. You staying out here then?”

Kurapika looks him over, then surveys the deck. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Yes.” Quieter, he says, “Are you all right?”

“Me? I’m fine. Totally fine. Anyway, I’ll catch you later then?”

“Yes,” Kurapika says, looking back over the railing.

“Okay,” Leorio says, though he sounds uncertain, but he is gone when Kurapika looks up again.

Kurapika says where he is, leaned against the railing to continue watching the dolphins. He read about them, long ago, but has had little opportunity to see them in the wild, which is a shame. He knew a great deal about them once. Most importantly: They are clever animals with a demonstrable sense of compassion, known to save those who are drowning. They roam the ocean with their families. They are free.

He stays at the railing for a while longer after they are gone, watching the waves, the ceaseless roil of the wake.

“Hey,” Leorio says, coming up beside him. He carefully tips the sunglasses so they fall onto Kurapika’s face, looks insufferably pleased with himself as Kurapika scowls, then says, “Come get lunch.”

He decides to sit inside for the rest of the voyage, and Leorio joins him without protest, falls asleep leaned against the window. Kurapika waits until he’s shifted in his sleep so his head is lolled back against the seat, then reaches across him to pull down the window shade. He’s tired as well, but if Leorio is asleep, then he will keep watch.

\----

Gon meets them at the port, spots them first and is waving to them already as they step onto the dock.

“Leorio,” he calls, weaving through the crowd as they approach the side of the road, then suddenly straightens as though electrified, and breaks into a run. “Kurapika!”

“Oh no,” Leorio says, feet bracing, holding out his hands. “No no no, Gon, hey--”

He tries to reach for Gon to slow him down, but Gon only ducks beneath his arm. Kurapika drops his bag and sets his feet, spreading his arms wide. Gon barrels into him and flings both arms around his waist, which was expected, then takes a step forward and hauls him up, which was not.

“Oof,” he gasps, all the breath squeezed out of him as Gon spins him in a circle, then carefully sets him down again.

“I can pick you up now!” Gon says delightedly, as though he had not just experienced it for himself. 

“You always could,” Kurapika says as he readjusts his shirt and brushes his hair out of his eyes, tone wry. Strange to see him so tall, though his grin is as broad and beaming as ever.

“You too,” Gon is saying to Leorio, who is laughing back at him.

“Yeah well, let’s see who wins in arm-wrestling this time. Good to see you! How about a hello?”

“Hello,” Gon parrots back, making a face at him, then stoops to pick up Kurapika’s bag. “Kurapika, can I take this? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“I would rather--” he begins, but Gon has already slung it over his shoulder along with his own. “If you insist. It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

“What about my bag?” Leorio says, and Gon brings a hand to his chin as he makes a show of thinking it over.

“My hands are full,” he says, then sets off, breezily waving for them to follow. “Come on!”

“‘Hands are full,’ my ass,” Leorio mutters disdainfully as they follow after, keeping Gon in sight. He hefts his bag over his shoulder, then demands, “Did you see that? He’s getting bad habits from Killua!”

Kurapika glances up at him, then puts on his sunglasses and proceeds unencumbered. “Mmhm.”

“Don’t laugh! You’re encouraging this!”

“Hardly.”

“Don’t play innocent,” Leorio says, voice stern though he is perfectly happy. He certainly doesn’t look concerned when Kurapika glances back again.

It’s nostalgic, nearly. The fish markets, the shops, the salt air. Not the company; they hadn’t met until they’d all boarded the ship. If they had, he doubts it would have changed anything. Perhaps it’s not so much nostalgic as uncanny. Less a ‘trip down memory lane’ than a divergence in possible outcomes.

The notion becomes uncomfortable.

Leorio puts a hand on his shoulder, and he startles. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he says. Some distance ahead, Gon has stopped to look back at them. It seems his pace slowed without his even realizing. “Perfectly fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I only--” he begins, then swallows and lies, “It’s the shift. From the ferry to land.”

“Mmhm,” Leorio says, unconvinced.

Kurapika drops his gaze. If he protests again, Leorio will only press the issue. He nearly reaches for his bag, to resettle it on his shoulder, but it’s not there; Gon has it this time. He scratches his neck instead, where it itches as his hair grows in uneven. “Let’s go,” he says, starting forward again. “Gon’s waiting for us.”

They make their way out of town, Gon falling back to keep pace and chatting comfortably with Leorio, laughing when Leorio complains about this professor, or that classmate, or the price of textbooks. It is true that he only has a very few current editions, though their spines are already well-creased from use. The rest look to be second- or even third- or fourth-hand.

A strategic risk, or so Leorio had explained to him. Apparently some editions only changed to ensure higher profit margins for the publishers, and the information in older ones remained good, the only thing changing being some wording, a paragraph here or there, an image swapped out for a newer one. Such pointless deception. 

He doesn’t realize he’s slowed again until Leorio puts a hand on his back. “Hey, what’s up?”

Gon has stopped as well, looking back at him with some concern. It is touching, but unnecessary really. He glances up at Leorio and says honestly, “I was thinking about your textbooks.”

Leorio immediately groans, hand dropping as he turns to keep heading up the path. _“Ugh,_ don’t. It’s vacation. _I_ don’t wanna think about my textbooks. Hey Gon, when do we get to your place? I’m starving.”

Gon laughs, then resumes walking as well. “Almost there,” he says, then points. “See? It’s the one on top of that hill.”

Leorio looks, then immediately takes offense. “It’s gonna take _forever_ to get there,” he protests. “Your aunt does this _every day?_ Is she a goddamn mountaineer? Is she _stacked?”_

“You get used to it,” Gon says mildly, then breaks into a jog. “Come on! It’s faster if you run.”

_“Are you serious?”_ Leorio howls after him, though he begins to run after Gon. There’s nothing for it then.

Kurapika picks up the pace as well, enough to remain reasonably within range of both of them. He could pass Leorio easily, but it seems unnecessary. It’s almost pleasant, moving only for the joy of it, though it seems as though his movements are slower, body less reactive. Understandable. He has been lax in his training for… a bit. There hadn’t been a reason, really. Pointless to think about it.

He speeds up, gains on Leorio and passes him to come within reach of Gon several times. Each time he does, Gon only beams back at him then goes faster. Somewhere behind them, Leorio groans, then hurries until he is trailing just behind Kurapika, doesn’t seem inclined to go any further. Once he grumbles something about ‘vacation,’ but no one pays it any mind.

Gon takes pity on Leorio and slows to a walk for the last stretch, but gets noticeably impatient as they approach the house on top of the hill, taking a few short fast steps forward before circling back, and rushing forward again.

Once they reach the top of the hill, Gon ranges ahead and calls, “Mito!”

“Back here!” 

He breaks into a run again, Kurapika’s bag bouncing against his back. Kurapika exchanges glances with Leorio, who shrugs, then tips his head after Gon. Kurapika shrugs back, and they proceed to the back of the house, where Gon is embracing a woman shorter than he is. She has the look of someone for whom this is a recent development. He can relate.

Gon breaks free, glancing back and ushering them closer, and says, “Mito, these are my friends! We met during the exam.”

Her expression flickers, then hardens slightly as she looks them over, eyes sharp and intent. Neutrally, she says, “I see.”

Gon is continuing as though he hasn’t noticed, reaching to pull them closer even as they approach. “And this is Mito! She’s my mom, and raised me after Ging left me here.”

Leorio nearly chokes, then coughs into his fist after Kurapika elbows him. He does agree, though. Hard to imagine anyone succumbing to Ging’s particular brand of… charm. Mito is looking dismayedly at Gon, who is beaming back at her. Then she sighs.

“Foster-mother, really. Or I suppose ‘aunt’ works just as well. Ging,” she says with a hard bright smile, “is my deadbeat cousin. I hear he’s made quite the name for himself out there.”

“He’s done something, all right,” Leorio agrees, rolling his eyes as Kurapika watches Mito, uncertain of what she must make of them. She clearly has no love for Hunters. Having met Ging, he can’t blame her.

“Well, don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from this one,” she says, looping an arm around Gon’s shoulders as he makes a face. She surveys him fondly, then says, “So, are you ready for homework?”

He groans, trying to duck away, but she only tightens her hold. “Mito! I’m on vacation!”

“No, you _were_ on vacation. And now you’re home, and it’s time for homework and your shots. I’ve been getting some very snippy letters from the doctor’s office.”

Leorio snorts, and she glances at him before nudging Gon and releasing him. “Now introduce me to your friends.”

Gon groans again, slouching over to stand between them. Then he shakes himself slightly and straightens again, as though readying himself for a presentation. Leorio is watching him do it from the corner of his eye and grinning.

“This is Leorio,” Gon says, patting Leorio on the arm. “He’s going to become a doctor.”

“Well, isn’t that something,” she says, extending a hand. “Good to finally meet you, Leorio.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he says, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.

“How nice,” she says in a tone indicating she is too polite to tell him he is being ridiculous. Kurapika likes her for that alone.

“And this is Kurapika,” Gon continues, gesturing to him now.

Kurapika hesitates, then offers her his hand. She takes it between both of hers, perhaps to avoid a repeat of Leorio’s performance, but she is looking at him strangely and does not let go.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she says, and he tenses, glances at Gon, who only shrugs back at him.

He manages to keep from pulling away, tries, “All good things, I hope?”

Leorio makes a strangled sound behind him, rather like he is trying not to laugh. It will be difficult to try and kick him from this angle, so Kurapika refrains.

“I think that depends on your perspective,” she says, and he blanches, but she still has his hand, is watching him closely.

Gon is watching as well, glancing between them both, as Leorio snorts behind one hand. As for himself, he doesn’t dare move.

“Our home is your home,” she says at last, then lets him go. “Thank you for taking such good care of Gon.”

“I don’t--” he begins, but she is already shooing Gon towards the front of the house, and himself and Leorio by extension.

“Gon, why don’t you show your friends where they can put their things? Lunch will be ready in just a few minutes.”

“‘Kay!” Gon calls over his shoulder, heading back around to the front. “This way!”

Leorio is already laughing as they begin to follow after. “When did _you_ become such a charmer?” he says as they round the corner. “‘All good things,’ are you serious? Were you in the mafia or private school?”

Kurapika treads on the back of his heel, and he stumbles, nearly dropping his bag as his foot comes halfway out of his shoe.

“Hey!”

Gon is turning back, puzzled, then laughs when he appraises the situation. Even Leorio finds it difficult to stay sour in the face of that. Then Gon opens the door, and they enter what is, unmistakably, his home.

It’s bright and lived-in, whitewashed walls and wooden fixtures, worn but maintained. The dining room is to the right, hallway and stairs to the left, photos arranged neatly on shelves and walls, along with various other trinkets. Still strange, he thinks, to need a picture of someone who lives in the same house, but if they are coming and going, then he supposes it makes sense. He would have liked… If he had known--

“I can show you around later,” Gon assures them, already heading up the stairs. “Come on up! You can drop off your stuff!”

Once upstairs, he leads them down the hall, to a room at the very end on the left. He opens the door and steps inside, carefully setting Kurapika’s bag alongside the wall, trusting that he and Leorio will follow, and they do. 

“We’ve only got one guest bed,” Gon says, surveying the room. “But Mito put out the mats and some quilts, so someone can sleep on the floor.”

Leorio sets his bag against the wall by the doorway. “You can have the bed.”

“No, thank you,” Kurapika says. Gon has already located the stack of thick padded blankets and is busily pulling them to the center of the room. He goes to assist. “I’m more comfortable on the floor.”

“I didn’t know that,” Leorio says, to which he shrugs without glancing back. There was no reason that he should.

“I’ve got it,” Gon tells him, waving a hand to shoo him away. “Go wash up. I think lunch is ready.”

He steps back towards the door, left hand gripping his right wrist, uneasy without knowing why. He steals a glance at Leorio, who is leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets, perfectly relaxed.

“I think you’re right,” Leorio’s telling Gon. “Smells good.”

“Yeah! Mito’s a really good cook, and she always makes a lot when I come home.” Gon looks back and says, “Don’t worry! Bathroom’s across the hall. Towels are on the shelf behind the mirror.”

He goes.

It’s a larger bathroom than he’s used to, perhaps only because he’s adjusted to the half bath at Leorio’s apartment. The bathrooms at the Nostrade manses had been large but frequently shared amongst the security detail, and besides, he had been traveling often. There has always been variation since he’s been abroad in the world, from hotels to motels to hostels to inns to campgrounds to less when he could find none of these. He adjusts every time.

He looks over the whitewashed walls, the fine-grained wood shelving, the worn but well-maintained porcelain. This is no different. He can adjust here too.

He washes his face, tries to finger-comb his hair back into some semblance of order. His face seems narrower than it used to be, shadows deeper beneath his eyes though he’s had plenty of sleep. His mother had never looked so tired. He peers at his reflection a while longer, but all he sees is himself. Perhaps it’s better that way.

There’s a knock on the door. “Hey, you done in there? I gotta take a leak.”

He opens the door and Leorio nearly barges into him, then puts both hands on his shoulders and bodily sets him aside, saying, “Sorry!” before pushing past him and slamming the door shut.

It’s not a large hallway, but he still looks up and down it to get his bearings again, disoriented. When he heads down the stairs, the table is set and Gon is carting a covered dish to the table, face freshly damp. Most likely he washed it in the kitchen.

He sets the dish down, then pats a chair. “Sit here, Kurapika, next to me!” he says, before rushing back towards the kitchen.

Kurapika hesitates, then begins to follow after him, only to narrowly avoid a collision when he comes rushing out again with another dish in his hands. “Is there anything--”

“Nope,” Gon says, setting this dish down as well before circling around to put his hands on Kurapika’s shoulders and steer him back towards the table. “Sit! You’re a guest here!”

A very elderly woman emerges from the kitchen. “And who is this, my dear?”

Gon stops where he is and goes to take her hand as she approaches. “Gran, this is Kurapika,” he says, leading her over. “He’s my friend from the exam. Kurapika, this is Gran. She’s actually my great-grandmother, but that’s a lot to say, so she’s just Gran.”

They stop before him, and Kurapika refrains from staring. This is Ging’s grandmother, then. Strange to think he ever had one. “It’s good to meet you.”

“You’re the private security one, aren’t you?” she says, smiling at him. “In the Blacklist business?”

A generous description. He glances at Gon, who has clearly said too much, then says, “Yes.”

She takes another step to peer more closely at him. “You’re very young for the business, aren’t you?”

He refrains from rolling his eyes. Though he no longer has a reputation to cultivate, it is still frustrating.

Gon says, “Ging was younger when he was a Hunter, Gran. And me.”

She just snorts, then waves a hand dismissively. “What was Ging doing, scrabbling around in some dusty ruins? Chatting up strangers for money? This is dangerous work, with dangerous people.”

“You’re very well-informed,” Kurapika says, re-evaluating her. She takes his hand instead of Gon’s and pats it.

“Thank you, dearie. You pick up quite a bit when you get be to my age. Come sit.”

“I said he could sit next to me, Gran!” Gon calls as he trots back to the kitchen, already disappearing through the door. “How much more is there?”

His great-grandmother tucks Kurapika’s hand into her elbow and says, “Come along now,” and there is no other option, really. He accompanies her to the table, and waits for her to be seated.

“Gon likes to sit there,” she says, pointing to the chair across from her, then to the one next to it. “So I suppose you’ll be sitting there. Mito sits at the end, usually, so your tall friend will be next to me.”

“Of course,” he says politely, and as though summoned, Leorio comes clattering down the stairs in a fresh shirt but the same travel-worn pants, and approaches the table.

“Are we talking about me? Hey, Gon.”

Gon sets down a bowl of salad and grins. “Leorio! Say hi to my gran!”

Leorio stops at the end of the table, easy swagger suddenly becoming formal, and he offers her a little half-bow. “Ma’am.”

She cackles, then presses one of her hands to her face like a teenage girl and says, “Please, call me Abe.”

He takes the seat next to her without even asking about other seating arrangements, and starts talking to her as though she had watched both him and Gon grow up together.

Gon brings out two dishes next and says, “Have you all met?”

“Just now,” Leorio says, then laughs and adds, “I didn’t realize Ging had a mother. I thought he just hatched from a rock, like some weird urban legend.” To Abe, he says, “No offense, ma’am.”

She laughs as well, says, “None taken. I’m his grandmother, really. But _Ging’s_ mother was married to _my_ son, so I know what that boy gets up to. Tell me, what nonsense has he gotten himself involved in this time?”

“What nonsense _hasn’t_ he gotten himself involved in?” says Leorio, grinning and rolling his eyes before flicking a pointed glance at Kurapika. Sensible of him. Their expedition is no easy topic of conversation.

Mito emerges, carrying a large flat dish. “Honestly, the less said about him, the better,” she says, setting it down with a thump.

“Hey, can I help with anything?” Leorio says, and she waves him back into his seat.

“No, please--”

“Leorio, you _can’t,_ you’re a _guest!”_ Gon yells, running back into the dining room with a basket of bread. He settles it on the table, then goes to set his hands on Leorio’s shoulders and push him back into the chair.

Leorio’s expression is a mix of surprise, dismay, and absolute betrayal as he cranes his gaze up to stare at Gon, who makes a face back at him, then says, “Stay here! We’ll take care of it.”

Kurapika coughs behind one hand, and Leorio glares across the table at him. Meanwhile, Abe says fondly, “He’s growing into such a fine young man. How did you all meet again?”

“The exam for the Hunter license,” Kurapika says, because it is true, and this time the glance Leorio shoots him is distinctly exasperated. He shrugs back. She knows what general Hunter business is like; this should be no surprise for her.

Between them, they manage the first part of a much abridged version of the exam, as Gon and Mito ferry the remaining dishes to the table.

Gon passes around glasses of water and seats himself, remarking, “I don’t remember it really happening like that…” 

“Well,” Leorio begins, then shakes his head and says, “Nevermind! We can talk about it after lunch.”

“About what?” says Mito as she arrives with the last dish and seats herself.

“About--” Gon begins, overridden by Leorio saying loudly, “Nothing!” then, “This looks great!”

“Well, I hope it tastes great, too,” Mito says, then adds, “Are we ready?” looking inordinately pleased to have relative strangers in her home and at her table. Ready for what, she does not say before folding her hands and shutting her eyes.

Gon and his great-grandmother do as well, Leorio following suit after a moment of hesitation. Kurapika folds his hands, looks down at them until the others open their eyes again, Leorio only doing so once he hears Gon and his family moving.

Kurapika glances at him, and he shrugs, then mutters, “Thanks for the food.”

“Thanks!” Gon says, then grabs his fork and spears a fish cake. “Let’s eat!”

Kurapika waits until Gon and Leorio are finished with their rush to pile as much as possible onto their plates before serving himself. The food is… it just is. Presumably it’s good. The main dishes are warm, the produce is fresh, fish especially so, and he eats it because he has to, stops when it becomes a task.

Beside him, Gon chatters excitedly across the table to both Mito and Leorio, who glances over at him from time to time. 

“What do you think of that?” Leorio says to Kurapika once, and Kurapika looks up, tries a smile which does not feel as though it goes well.

“Sounds like an adventure,” he says politely, because it was Gon who was talking, and that is the safest answer.

Next to Leorio, Gon’s great-grandmother laughs, then says, “It’s always been an adventure with this family. A whole island and nothing to do but cause trouble, it seems.”

He manages another smile, and she reaches to push a dish across the table towards him, heedless of whatever else might lie in its way. “Here, try this.”

“Gran, we can--” Mito begins, standing as Leorio glances over, then hastily reaches to clear a path. Gon rescues the bread basket, then shoves it at Leorio before grabbing the serving dish.

“Here, Gran, I’ve got it.”

“Why am I holding this?” Leorio demands, clutching the basket.

“Meddlers,” Gon’s great-grandmother says fondly, then takes a roll from the bread basket. “Thank you, dear.” 

To Kurapika, she says, “Try some!” and gestures towards his plate with her roll.

He manages a smile, then serves himself a modest portion. A thick sauce over what looks to be fried fish and soft bean curd, much like something he used to eat. There are other versions available, here in the outside world, but they’ve never tasted quite right. He takes a bite. It is savory and warm, then suddenly, surprisingly, burns, all the way down.

“Is it okay?” Gon says, brow furrowed in concern.

“It’s good,” he says, still trying not to reel with his surprise.

“Have some more!”

“That won’t be necessary,” he begins, but Gon has already scooped another spoonful onto his plate. His throat is burning. He feels it all the way down his chest. The room becomes unreal around him, a shallow facsimile that could collapse and fold like paper at any second. This is not where he’s supposed to be.

When he looks up, Mito is watching him. “Is everything all right?”

Beside her, Leorio tenses, but he does not startle, puts down his fork. “Yes.”

She seems unconvinced. “Are you still hungry? Is there anything else you’d like to eat?”

“No, thank you,” he says. He is done. He should go. “Excuse me.”

He pushes his chair back from the table, and Mito begins to rise as well. “Then let me show you where everything is upstairs--”

He holds out a hand to forestall her. “No. Thank you. I’ll figure it out.”

She is still watching him. Then she says, quietly, “Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” he repeats, louder than he intended.

They are all looking at him now, with varying degrees of concern. Leorio has his hands on the table, will stand or reach for him across it if given the slightest excuse. Kurapika has no intention of giving him one.

“Excuse me,” he says again, and retreats up the stairs.

Not long after, Leorio enters their shared room, knocking once before pushing the door open. “Kurapika?”

He is sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, stays where he is, doesn’t respond.

Leorio shuts the door behind him. “You okay?” He crosses the room to sit just to the side of Kurapika, facing him. Quietly, he says, “You had a little bit of a freak-out there.”

“I did not.”

“Just a little bit.”

_“I did not,”_ he says again, sharper this time, then presses his face to his knees. 

“I mean, it’s okay.”

“It’s _not.”_

“Okay,” Leorio says, then falls silent. Clearly he has no idea what else to try. Kurapika assumes that he is being difficult once more. His temper has always been too short for his own good, and he has never been good at backing down.

“Hard-headed,” all the village cousins had complained to his mother. Each time, she’d only laugh.

“Good,” she’d say to him in private, stroking his hair. “If there’s something you want to do, do it! Don’t let other people stop you because they’re scared.”

Once she’d paused and added quietly, “That’s no way to live your life.”

He doesn’t know what she wanted for him, but it could not have been this. No way to tell now, though.

Leorio is still figuring out the best way to deal with him. He must be exhausted, or frustrated, or both. He should give up, and make it easier for both of them.

“Okay, well. I’m gonna be catching up with Gon, if you want to find us later,” Leorio says. “He wants to take us on a tour of the island sometime. Whenever you’re up for it.”

He’s not. He won’t be.

He pulls his knees closer to himself, face still pressed against them. After a moment, Leorio sighs, then says, “All right,” and gets up. The door closes quietly behind him when he leaves.

It’s only a short time later when there’s another knock at the door. He tenses, doesn’t know what else he expected. Leorio doesn’t know how to let well enough alone.

“Go away!” he snaps, and there’s a pause before Mito says, quietly, “Is now a bad time?”

Kurapika freezes, then slowly lifts his head. “No,” he says, rubbing his face. He lowers his hands to his lap as the door opens and Mito approaches, shutting the door behind her.

He sighs, then says, “I apologize for my behavior. I understand that I was. Appalling.”

“I understand,” she says. 

“That’s kind of you to say. I am sorry, though.”

She points to the spot beside him. “May I?”

He shifts aside to give her space, and she sits, drawing her knees up and loosely folding her arms around them. “I heard about what happened to your family.”

It’s soft, vague phrasing, able to cover a great deal of ground. The loss of a loved one. A financial crisis. A vehicle accident. A calculated massacre. The butchering that followed.

“I’m so sorry. That must have been very difficult for you.”

“I managed.”

She glances at him, then huffs quietly to herself and says, “I’m sure you did.” Then she adds, gentler, “I just can’t help thinking that it must have been very lonely.”

“I suppose,” he says, feeling younger, smaller than he has in years. Everything he has been and done seems to hang off him now, like an ill-fitting suit.

“Well,” she says slowly, “I know we’ve only just met, but I feel like I’ve known you for longer. Gon’s told me a great deal about you.” She pauses a moment, then says carefully, “It sounds to me like your life has not been kind.”

He says, “It is what it is,” and his hands are folded one over the other, clenched so tightly the bones should creak. “There is no going back.”

“I understand.”

“I hope you don’t.”

She’s quiet, then says, “Maybe not.” It’s a good tactic to put him at his ease; he tenses. “But I like to think I know little bit about unforeseen consequences, and things that can’t be taken back.”

“The overlap is very thin,” he says before he can stop himself.

“I suppose it is. I don’t mean to bring up difficult things.”

“Then don’t,” he says sharply. 

She doesn’t reply immediately and he takes a deep breath. It will do him no good to lose his temper now. Most likely he would regret it. She is part of Gon’s family, and she means well. It is her house and he cannot tell her to get out.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know you mean well. It’s just that-- It’s hard to believe you know anything about me. Or my situation. Regardless of what Gon has said.”

“Maybe I don’t,” she says, slow and careful. “But I do know you still took the time for Gon when you didn’t have to.”

Oh, liar. Gon has told her nothing.

“And I appreciate that. It’s a… Well, it was a very vulnerable time for him.” Then she sighs, and says, “It still might be, to be perfectly honest, but maybe you knew that already. And you were there for him, even if you do feel differently.”

He is silent, considering. He suspects he knows what she is hinting at, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

She is facing forward, watching him without looking directly at him. Then she says, as though it were some small thanks, “I just mean to say… there’s a home here for you. If that’s what you’d like.”

He is on his feet before he knows it, halfway to the door because it would be rude to exit through the window. She has no reason to be concerned for him. 

She stands as well, but he backs away from her, scrubs his eyes and says, “I appreciate the thought, but--”

There’s a knock, and then the door opens and Leorio pokes his head in and says, “Hey, Miss Mito, Gon says--”

He stares at them, then steps further into the room. “Kurapika? Are you-- Hey, are you okay?”

No. He’s not. He hasn’t been. He won’t be. There’s too much to say, so he doesn’t answer. There’s no way to avoid the question, though. Leorio is at the doorway behind him, Gon’s aunt between him and the window. He’s trapped.

“Leave,” he rasps. It should be a shout, but he can’t catch his breath. His body has betrayed him yet again, and he is trembling. He could most likely move. If necessary. But not well.

“Kurapika,” Leorio begins, takes a step forward, is most likely reaching out, and Kurapika flinches back, right hand raising.

_“Leave!”_

“Oh, shit,” Leorio says, then, “Miss Mito, if you--”

There are footsteps behind him, and he stumbles back, dowsing chain materializing heavy and cold against his skin, but she moves past him, gives him a wide berth as she says to Leorio, “Let’s go.”

“But--”

“He needs some time.”

He needs a great deal more than that, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t think he’d be able to even if he tried.

Mito shoos Leorio out, despite his protests, then shuts the door behind them. Kurapika stays where he is, alone in an unfamiliar room once again. Not that it matters. He should be used to it by now, and yet the thought still only fills him with unease. It’s too open. The room is open, the door is behind him, shut now. He should lock it, though he has no reason to. He should lock it. It would be safer.

It’s too far and he cannot make himself go. To walk there, then find the door handle, then walk back, all while his hands shake, and every movement costly. He has a little bit of time. He’d like to find a defensible spot to sit for a while. Somewhere hidden, but not confined.

He has his hands out, trying to remember the layout of the room. It was a simple one. Window and bed to left. Shelf and desk to right. There was space behind the headboard, and he makes his way there carefully, step after painstaking step, hands reaching ceaselessly before him. When he finds the smooth curve, slightly more than waist-high, he settles there on the floor and presses his back to the headboard, shoulder to the wall. He doesn’t want to be here, but there’s nowhere else to go. Nothing to be done about it; he’s resigned himself to that by now.

He puts his head down and waits for it to pass.

\---

“I’m so sorry,” Leorio says as they walk down the stairs. “He’s not usually-- Things haven’t been easy for him for a while.”

Mito stops where she is on the staircase and looks at him. Oh, he knows this look. It’s the advisor look, the one where they’re a little disappointed and mostly annoyed but don’t want to say anything about it kind of look. “I know.”

He puts his hands in his pockets, tries not to slouch. “Just saying,” he mutters before he can think better of it, then winces when she frowns. “Sorry,” he says, then continues down the stairs.

“Wait,” she says, then sighs. When he looks back, she’s standing with one hand on the banister, face set like Kurapika’s when he’s mulling something over, or like Gon’s when he’s stuck on a problem he won’t accept the answer for. Then she looks up, expression calm and eyes sharp, and she doesn’t look like either of them at all.

“Do you know why your friend became a Hunter?”

“Uh,” he says. “Revenge?”

She nods slowly, as though she’s just confirmed it for herself. He wonders how much Gon told her. Before he can ask, she says, “Do you know if he’ll stay a Hunter?”

“No,” he admits. He doesn’t know what Kurapika wants to do.

She considers him, then says quietly, “Some people become Hunters for glory.”

He snorts. “Not Kurapika.”

She nods again, more certain this time. “That’s right. Some don’t.” She sighs again, expression suddenly tired. “For some, it’s like they’re looking for something no one else can see. Like there’s something inside them that can’t be satisfied any other way.”

He’s not sure they’re talking about Kurapika anymore. Carefully, he says, “Sounds tough for the people around them, the way you say it.”

“I suppose it must,” she says, resigned, then shakes her head, and looks back at him. “But don’t mind me. Gon says you’ll be a great doctor someday.”

“Well, shucks,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s doing all right. He likes most of his classes and most of the time, he even likes the work, but Cheadle’s great, and he doesn’t want to be like her. Too hands-off. Watching her, it looks like greatness comes with distance, and he’s not so sure about that.“I don’t know about great. Right now, I’d settle for just pretty good.”

Mito eyes him, then says, “If you’d wanted to just be ‘pretty good,’ I don’t think you would have risked your life in the exam.”

That stops him cold. He lowers his hand, settles it on the banister. He just wanted to fix whatever Pietro had. And to keep fixing. Just this one thing, so no one would ever have to worry about it again. And that’s it, right?

“Either way, I hope you do,” she says, then puts a hand on his arm, face softening. “Thank you for being there for Gon.”

She goes down the rest of the stairs without him.

He stares after her, still a little stunned. Nice of her, honestly. And Gon. He’s not really sure what he’s been able to do, besides be too little, too late.

He gives himself a quick shake, then makes his way back to the dining room. As he enters, Gon looks up from the basket of half-shelled peas. “Is Kurapika okay?”

“No,” he says, settling heavily back into his chair. Maybe Killua was right. He is an old man after all. “Not even a little.”

“Oh,” says Gon, giving the stairs a speculative glance.

Leorio waves a hand, then reaches for a peapod. “Don’t. He’s pretty upset now. He’d probably just kick you out.”

Gon considers this, then pushes his chair back from the table anyway.

“I dunno, Gon,” Leorio says, tensing. “Your aunt said he might need a little time.”

“If Mito says it, it’s probably true,” Gon says, sliding reluctantly back into his chair, but his jaw is still set and stubborn, and the look in his eyes is steely. It’s eerie, really. Kid’s gonna look just like Ging one day.

Leorio opens another peapod, squashes a pea on accident when he tries to run his thumb beneath them. He sighs and flicks the rest out one by one. “Honestly, I feel the same way as you. I just wish he’d-- I don’t know. I don’t know! I don’t know why he’s like this.”

He gives up on shelling, picks the stem off the next one and eats it. It’s pretty good. Crunchy. Green. Almost sweet. Probably pretty healthy. He eats another.

“Well,” Gon says slowly, chin propped in his hands. “Kurapika’s pretty stubborn, right?’

Leorio pushes the basket away and gives him a look. “Really? _You’re_ saying this?”

Gon just laughs. “I guess I am a little hard-headed!” he says cheerfully, knocking on his forehead. “Killua says so too.”

“How is Killua these days?” Leorio says, with as much nonchalance as he can manage. 

Gon gives him another wide-eyed stare, chin back in his hands. Kid’s not fooled at all. “Mm, you've seen him more recently than I have! He sounds good on the phone, though.”

Fine then. That’s their business.

Gon’s talking again, back to something else. “Anyway, I just mean that Kurapika’s probably embarrassed.”

Leorio cocks an eyebrow at him. “You think?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t want anyone else to help him,” Gon says, leaning further over the table, staring fixedly at the far wall like it’s a puzzle he still has to solve. “He wants to do it on his own.”

“He doesn’t even know what he wants to do right now,” Leorio retorts, exasperated. “He told me himself.”

Gon brightens. “Killua was like that too, for a little! When we first started hanging out, Killua said he didn't know what he wanted to do, so he wanted to help me find Ging until he knew what he wanted to do. And then… he did.” Gon shrugs. “It’ll happen. Kurapika’s smart.”

“You really miss Killua, huh?”

“Of course I miss him! He’s my best friend in the whole world.” Gon heaves a sigh, sprawling across the table. “I can’t believe it’s been nearly two years since I’ve seen him.”

“Really?” Leorio says, forehead wrinkling. Maybe it’s just because of how they all first met, but it seems like they’ve never been one without the other. “That entire time?”

“Yeah,” Gon says, quieter than before. Then he glances back at Leorio and smiles. “But that’s why I’m glad you guys came to visit. It’s like being on the road again. Remember?”

Leorio forces a laugh, then grimaces and says, “Hard to forget! Those weird fox things, bitten by a million snakes, nearly trampled by pigs, meeting,” he shudders, _“Hisoka.”_

“He’s not _that_ bad,” Gon says mildly. “He’s kind of nice, in his own way.”

_“Ugh,”_ Leorio says, reaching for the peas again and crunching some more. Mouth full, he mutters, “The less said about him, the better.”

Gon starts to chuckle to himself, then sits up straight, gaze turning towards the stairs again.

Leorio glances over as well, frowning. He hears it too now, something faint and almost rhythmic coming from upstairs. “What--” he starts, then stands. Has to be Kurapika.

“I’m gonna go,” Gon declares, sliding out of his chair as Mito appears from a side doorway, holding a wicker basket and two sun hats.

“Done with the peas?” Mito says, though they’re not. She plunks the basket down on the table before them. “Good. I have some weeding for you to do.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Gon protests.

She hesitates and eyes him, clearly torn. Finally she says, “All right. But make it quick.”

Gon darts off towards the stairs without a backward glance. Leorio gapes after him, then says, “Me too! I have to go after Gon.”

“Nice try,” Mito says, pushing the basket into his arms and beckoning him down to jam both hats onto his head. She drags his chair out of the way and shoves him. “Go on. Out with you.”

He’s trying to figure out weeding when Gon emerges from the house, face still and somber. Leorio glances at him as he crouches to start going through the basket, but he just gives a little tip of his head to where Mito is setting out a basket of washed laundry just by the side door. She glances after Gon, and Leorio crams the sun hat on him.

“Hey!” he protests, but he’s laughing now, fending off Leorio’s attempts to adjust it.

“Look, if I had to hear a lecture about protection from the sun, then you do too.”

“I hear it all the time!” Gon protests. “I wear sunblock!”

“Hold still, it’s crooked!”

“I can do it! Let go!”

They both freeze when Mito starts laughing, and Leorio takes advantage of the brief distraction to pull the brim low, nearly over Gon’s eyes. He suspects Gon lets him. 

“Anyway,” Leorio says, and Gon pushes the hat back to peer at the three-pronged tool he’s holding up. “Can you tell me what this doohickey’s for?”

“Oh, that’s to loosen up the soil. It’s not really good at digging holes, but it can make it easier.”

“Huh. So you’re not digging… the weeds out?”

Gon shakes his head. “Nope! You dig around them, and you pull them out.”

“That’s basically the same thing,” Leorio says, exasperated.

“Not really,” Gon says, dragging out the words with that half-smile that means he’s trying very hard to be polite.

Leorio scoffs, and starts scraping at the dirt with the claw. It doesn’t do shit. He tries the little shovel, but puts it down again immediately. He can’t shake the image of dozens of tiny graves, Kurapika settled in on his knees among them.

The claw’s just better, he decides, picks it back up and attacks the dirt again.

Gon’s way faster than he is, already has a small pile of uprooted plants by the time Leorio manages to get his hands on one root and start yanking. He does pretty well, he thinks, or at least the the weed comes out of the ground, even if something snaps along the way.

“Am I doing this right?” he says, brandishing the entire plant at Gon, leaves, roots, and all.

Gon takes one look and immediately cries, “No!” as he scrambles over, weird gardening claw in hand. “You need to get the whole root. Here, watch me.”

“I’m watching.”

“No, you have to _pay attention._ Look!”

He looks. Gon’s scratching around in the dirt, mouth set and eyes determined as he digs along the line of a particularly long weed. He loosens the dirt around the root before reaching his hand in and pulling as far as it’ll go, then he picks up the weird claw and tries again.

Finally, he says, “Hah!” and yanks the last trailing bits out with a flourish, showering them both with dirt.

“Careful!” Leorio says, dusting himself off.

Gon tosses the weed onto the pile beside him. “Like that,” he says, then readjusts his hat.

“Seems like a lot of trouble for nothing,” Leorio grumbles. “Aren’t they all just plants?”

“They are,” Gon says, pulling up another and shaking the dirt off the roots. “You’re right, though, it does seem kind of mean.” He tosses it onto the pile, then starts digging again. “They just want to live, same as anything else. But if they grow here, then the things that we want to eat won’t grow as well, and the other plants will take over. It’s kind of selfish, really!”

“You’re not convincing at all!” Leorio says, and Gon just laughs, then wipes some dirt off his face.

“It’s just in our nature to be selfish! Every living thing. Can’t blame them. Can’t blame us, either.”

He’s carefully neatening his pile of weeds now, hat brim hiding his face.

Leorio tugs the brim even further down so he yelps and falls back on the dirt. “When did you get so wise, huh?”

Gon just laughs at that, pushing his hat back again, but for an instant he looks… tired. Sad and tired. It’s gone in an instant but it’s hard to miss.

For that instant, he’d looked just like Kurapika.

“I’ve just been thinking a little,” Gon says, grinning now, but not like he’s completely happy. “Guess I’m getting older, huh? Like you!”

“I’m not that old!”

“And you don’t know how to weed,” Gon agrees, which is technically true.

“I’m _learning,”_ Leorio says, then grabs the next leafy thing that looks kind of weird.

“You’re learning!” Gon says, then frowns at Leorio’s handful, mouth scrunching. “But Leorio…”

“Yeah?”

Gon points. “That’s a squash. We want to keep that one.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Leorio says, exasperated. Squash, celery, cilantro, whatever. They’ve all got leaves.

“You’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Gon says, then pats his shoulder and moves on to the next row.

“Yeah sure,” Leorio mutters. He looks at the pile Gon left behind, then at the rest of the leafy rows needing his attention. He picks up the garden claw again. “Eventually.”

\---

Mito keeps them there for the entire rest of the afternoon, then makes him and Gon replant every actual vegetable sprout he accidentally uprooted. Wasn’t Gon’s doing, really, but he helps out anyway and only sulks a little. He’s a good kid. Leorio gives him first dibs on shower, and heads back to the guest room.

Kurapika’s nowhere to be seen. But even without Gyo or En, there’s a weirdness behind the bed, where someone wouldn’t be visible from the door if maybe they were having a bad time and just wanted to sit on the floor for a little. Leorio approaches, and sure enough, he’s there, folded up with his head tucked against the wall.

“Hey,” he says. Kurapika doesn’t look up. “Falling asleep here?”

“No.”

He sounds back to normal, at least. Or normal for him nowadays. “Mind if I sit?”

“No.”

Leorio sits. Kurapika doesn’t tense up or move away, so he glances over. There’s a little stubby paw poking out from between Kurapika’s stomach and leg, and Leorio nods at it. “Who’s this?”

Kurapika shifts, follows his gaze before fishing out a worn-out toy bear, patched up all over. “Gon brought it.”

“One of his?”

Kurapika just nods. After a moment, he flicks his thumbs to make the bear’s arms flap up once. Leorio laughs, glances up to see Kurapika smile wryly down at the bear before tucking it away again.

“Cute, huh?”

“He said it was one of his favorites when he was a child.”

Leorio snorts. “He’s still a kid,” he says, but it sounds hollow even to him.

“Not anymore,” Kurapika says, flat and final, all amusement gone.

Not too much to say to that. Leorio considers, then says carefully, “I’d like him to still be a kid. If he has the chance.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Leorio looks down at his hands, leans further back against the headboard. “He will.” He nudges Kurapika’s shoulder. “And we’ll help out, right? 

Kurapika shuffles away from him. “Do what you like.”

“Come on, I’m sure you’ve got some great elder wisdom to share. What are you, twenty-four? Twenty-five?”

Quietly, Kurapika says, “Twenty-one, I think.”

He glances over again. He forgets Kurapika’s younger sometimes. His career trajectory’s already enough to give a guidance counselor a migraine.

“Not so old, then,” Leorio says confidently. “Plenty of time to do… anything, really.”

“Is it,” Kurapika says, flat and disinterested.

“Yeah. I know you haven’t had much time, but any ideas?”

“No.”

“Not back to Nostrade?”

“No.”

“Taking a year off?”

He doesn’t answer.

Leorio glances over at him, then away. “There’s a lot you could do if you wanted. You could apply for university! We could go to the same school.”

“No thank you.”

Stubborn as usual. School’s not for everyone, sure, but still. Kurapika would be good at it. Money’s not an issue. He could meet new people, find something else to do. Get a routine. “Listen. I know you want to do everything on your own. But we’re here for you. We want to help you.”

“I know.”

Leorio takes a breath, holds it, then says, “Please let me help you.”

Tonelessly, Kurapika says, “Everything you are doing is more than enough.”

Leorio looks down at him and doubts that, doesn’t say anything. He’s so close right now. It would be easy to put an arm around him, or lean against him, maybe rest one cheek against his hair. Maybe turn a little and kiss him.

Leorio draws back and says, “You want to be alone?”

“Please,” Kurapika says, sounding choked. Definitely time to go.

“Well,” Leorio says, then grabs the headboard so he can ease himself up. He can chill in Gon’s room, or the living room, or somewhere. Easy to find people in this house. “You know where I am.”

He grabs a change of clothing then heads out, nearly turns back at the doorway. The room feels empty now. He knows Kurapika’s there, but even with that, it feels like he’s just… gone. It doesn’t feel right. It shouldn’t be right, to just leave him like that. 

He shuts the door quietly behind him.

\----

The sun is only just beginning to set when Gon calls, “Dinner!” through the door. Kurapika heaves himself up and makes his way downstairs.

Gon is already at the bottom of the staircase, hair still damp, and grins up at him. “Hungry?” he says, as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

Kurapika manages a smile. “Not very.”

“Well, come eat something anyway,” Gon says, then takes his elbow and tows him into the dining room where Leorio is puzzling over the table settings.

“Hey Kurapika,” he says, frowning at a napkin and a fork. “Do you know if these’re supposed to go on the left or the right?”

“Left!” Gon says before he can. Then he says, “You can put the knife there, too.”

“Actually, Gon, it should be forks on the left, knives and spoons on the right,” Kurapika says. He had learned, prior to Nostrade. Needlessly restrictive, he’d thought then and still thinks now, but he had learned it all.

“Oh?” says Gon. He considers the table for a moment, then says, “Well, this looks fine, too.”

“It does,” Kurapika agrees, beginning to smile. Gon’s earnestness has always been particularly endearing.

Leorio has finished setting the table: forks to the left, knives and spoons to the right. Gon looks at it and makes a face, but doesn’t say anything, and goes to bring his aunt and great-grandmother to dinner. They all sit, and pretend nothing is out of the ordinary.

Mito is polite to him still, but leaves him be. He is grateful for it.

There are leftovers from lunch as well, including the bean curd and fish, refried, and steeping in its sauce.

He doesn't take any, and no one offers him any. No one remarks upon it, or draws his attention to it in any way. Gon eats some, then his grandmother and Leorio split the rest.

He stays for their game night. He doesn’t know any of the rules, can’t make sense of the ones they try to explain to him. Leorio in particular keeps adding in exceptions that don’t make any sense.

“House rules are no house rules!” Kurapika finally says, frustrated, and they all laugh as though he had said something very clever, which is untrue. It was moderately clever at best. 

He excuses himself early. Leorio starts a motion, as though he will put down his cards and get to his feet and follow after, but Kurapika catches his eye, shakes his head very slightly.

Mito is considering his set-aside cards, and keeping her grandmother from simply claiming them to add to her own hand. Gon, however, is watching him.

“Kurapika?”

“I’m just a bit tired,” he says, and manages a smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“‘Kay,” Gon says dolefully, still looking up at him. Then he says, “Gran, no!” and cups his free hand around the pile of what used to be Kurapika’s cards.

“See you,” is all Leorio says before putting his hand down beside Gon’s. “Granny, you can’t do that.”

_“I saw that, Leorio!”_ Gon exclaims, grabbing his sleeve when Leorio tries to play innocent. He yanks when Leorio starts to pull away, then snatches up the two cards that fall out of his sleeve. “These are getting shuffled back in!”

Kurapika makes good his escape. The sounds of a brewing argument follow him all the way up the stairs, mostly Leorio’s pained and increasingly implausible protests. They fade nearly entirely once he shuts the door behind him. He could have learned the rules, he is sure, but there didn’t seem to be any point. He doesn’t bother with the lamp.

Eventually, there’s a soft knock on the door, then a sliver of light as someone eases it open. He’s sitting in the space behind the headboard again. It’s secure, and he’s not ready to try to sleep yet.

“Kurapika?” Gon says quietly. “I brought you some water. If you want it.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just pads in quietly to set the glass on the nightstand beside the bed. His shadow stretches briefly over the headboard as he peers over at Kurapika, then recedes again as he settles on the bed.

“Gran says there’s a new skewers place opening in town, if you want to go.”

“No, thank you.”

“Or maybe later this week we can go camping?”

Kurapika suppresses a sigh. “Maybe. Ask Leorio.”

Gon shifts, and it sounds as though he is rubbing his eyes, a strange, tacky sound like something small being stuck and unstuck in rapid succession. It’s unfortunately familiar. Kurapika shudders, nearly covers his ears, but then it stops and Gon says, mournful and low, “I wish people didn’t have to feel like this.”

“It’s all right,” Kurapika says quietly, though he’s lying. He’s gotten better at it. “Sometimes that’s how it is.”

Gon makes a small sound, unconvinced, then swings his feet against the bed, one after the other. He stills, and is silent for a while. For a moment, Kurapika thinks he has gotten up and left, but then he scuffs his feet and says quietly, “It's hard, right?”

“What is?”

“Everything being over.”

He has nothing to say to that.

The bed shifts again, and there’s the tread of Gon’s feet against the floor. Then he settles on the ground next to Kurapika, hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder. He’s warm, and solid, and doesn’t say anything else. Kurapika shuts his eyes, and they sit in silence.

When there’s a nudge at his side, he reaches across himself to take Gon’s hand, square and sturdy. They don’t speak.

Some time later, there’s an uproar from the living room, Mito and Gon’s great-grandmother laughing as Leorio accuses someone of cheating. Gon stirs at that, glancing towards the doorway.

“Well, I should go before Leorio loses all his money to Gran,” Gon says, hand sliding out of his. He stands, dusts off his shorts. “Is there anything else you want? I can get you a snack or something.”

“No, thank you,” Kurapika says, arms folding close to himself again. Even the thought of eating seems exhausting now. “I’ll be fine.”

There’s a small pause, and then Gon says, “Okay,” then, “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning!”

\---

The next two days go fine. Or as fine as they could, really.

Kurapika ends up in the garden for most of one afternoon, and teams up with Gon to ban Leorio from weeding. Which is also fine, because Leorio has studying to catch up on, and weeding makes his back hurt anyway, so he sits in one of the chairs by the side entrance and reads while Gon and Kurapika muck around in the dirt and chat quietly. Sometimes Gon laughs, and Kurapika will make a face when he says something, but mostly they're efficiently pulling up daisies or whatever, then tag-teaming watering and mulching. Which looks gross. What is mulch anyway? Just extra wet dirt.

Gon takes them on a nature walk one time, or more like a nature run. He hasn’t changed a bit. Which is good, because probably that’s the only thing that could get Kurapika to run after him, or to run after anything at all. Leorio hangs back. He _could_ keep up, if he really wanted, but it’s his vacation. No one wants to run on vacation. Besides, Kurapika and Gon look like they’re having enough fun for all three of them. Nice for them all to be in the same place again, still able to do their tree-flips and nature parkour whatever. He wasn’t sure if Gon would be able to, for a while.

He shivers. That had been Killua’s ‘other’ little sister. Nanika. Absolutely unreal, and not even the strongest thing the Dark Continent has to offer. Something he’d just brushed up against before he’d even heard of the place. Like it had already been reaching out, unwilling to leave any of them alone. Spooky shit. 

He makes a face, hops over a tree root. It’s over now at least, though there’s still the issue of Nanika. Maybe he should’ve tried a little harder to meet her. She’s why Gon is still here, after all. Kurapika still might not be down, though. He’s not even fully sure Kurapika knows; he’d tried to explain, when they’d met up again after the election, but smart as he is, sometimes Kurapika doesn’t exactly listen.

Whatever. It’s just nice that Kurapika’s actually here now, hanging around in the sun instead of who knows where, doing who knows what. Maybe he’s actually been keeping up with conditioning, too. He doesn’t go as fast as Gon, but he still makes all the landings.

A couple trees got downed up ahead and Gon’s having a great time hopping on over those. Kurapika has a pretty clear tell when he’s distracted and something new catches his attention, so his head goes up and his shoulders go back, and he goes for it.

But he slips, fucks up a jump he should have made easy, looks like he scrapes his shin before he just wipes out. Leorio goes running up as Gon stops, puzzled, then starts running back. Kurapika’s already getting up and waves them both off. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, then smiles small, rueful, and really, really fake. “I’m just embarrassed, is all.”

He doesn’t try again.

They get about a quarter of the way around, Gon slowing right down when Kurapika doesn’t pick up the pace. So they amble instead and stay on the main trail, which is great because then they don’t have to fight their way through any underbrush. It’s nice. Taking a walk together without having to worry about weird traps or freaky animals or homicidal clowns. They’re just missing Killua, who would probably just run up ahead with Gon, anyway. Him and Gon stuck onto each other right away, and then they just kinda stayed stuck. Wild, really. Kids needed a lot more from the world than what they got.

He glances over to see how Kurapika’s holding up. Looks like he’s talking to Gon now, face relaxed, shoulders loose. Something about tall tales and a fish.

“There’s a lake that way,” Gon says, pointing to the right when they reach a fork. “But I wanted to show you the coast, and we can see the town and all the ships going in and out of the harbor.”

“Sounds nice,” Leorio says.

Gon beams up at him. “It is! The lake is nice too, so maybe we can go camping there later before you leave.”

“Sure!” Leorio says, then nudges Kurapika. “That sound good?”

“If you like,” Kurapika says, but his attention’s further up on the trail. Then he takes a step back, just behind Gon and Leorio’s shoulders.

Some other hikers come around a bend in the path, and Gon waves at them, completely unsurprised. Leorio lifts a hand, then slides a glance back at Kurapika, who is totally uninterested in making any sort of human contact. Figures. The hikers pass without much more than a brief greeting, but they stay where they are, like they were admiring the view or taking a breather. 

“We’re almost there,” Gon says when the other hikers have vanished in the distance. 

They make it there right after midday, Gon leading them out of the jungle with a happy sigh, then dashing forward to the edge of the cliff. Leorio starts, then grabs after him much too late, hand closing on air.

“Why is he like this,” he says to Kurapika, who is shielding his eyes to look out over the water. “Why do I keep forgetting he’s like this?”

“Selective memory, willful denial, relentless albeit misguided optimism,” Kurapika replies. “Take your pick.”

“Why do I keep forgetting _you’re_ like this?”

Kurapika turns and smiles at him, actually _smiles at him._ “You don’t forget,” he says. “You just choose to ignore it.”

Then he goes to join Gon on the edge of the cliff, Gon shrugging out of his backpack and excitedly pointing out the sights.

“See, that’s the boat you came in on, or part of the same fleet, and there’s a little sailing area waaay behind that little rock, but mostly they don’t care as long as you’re not in the way of the big boats, and _that’s_ where the fishers come in...”

Leorio sighs, then sets his bag down. Gon is digging around in his, and produces a folded cloth. “Anyway, who wants to help me set up the blanket? This way we won’t get so many bugs all over us.”

“Here, Gon,” Kurapika says, takes one end of the cloth when Gon holds it out to him. 

“I had the drinks, right?” Leorio says, unzipping his bag and looking inside.

“Think so!” Gon’s plonked himself down on the blanket, still way too close to the edge for Leorio’s liking, but well, Gon is Gon and he mostly knows what he’s doing.

Leorio sits on the far end of the blanket, as far away from the edge as possible, and starts setting out the drinks, still cold thanks to the insulation and the icepacks. Gon produces the handwrapped rice rolls and some crackers and the little puffy chips that taste like an artificial ocean, then squints into his bag and shakes out a container of cheeses and sausages or salamis or whatever chopped into little squares.

Kurapika’s got the cups and napkins already out, and is working on what’s practically an entire bin of cut fruit, somehow jammed into another insulated bag by the joint efforts of Gon and a very determined Mito. Then that’s pretty much it for snacks, and they can settle down to watch the horizon and the waves and the tiny little ships move in and out. This far up, it’s hard to even see any people.

Gon’s moved so his feet are dangling over the edge and he’s pointing at other sites in town again. “There’s a fountain there, and that’s where the other fish markets are, but Aunt Mito says they’re not as good.”

As far as he can tell, Kurapika’s just listening, glancing between Gon and the town, face the most relaxed it’s been in… months at least. Hell, maybe this vacation’s good for him. Leorio opens one of the cracker packets and the salami bin. If no one else is gonna snack, he will.

Gon glances back when Kurapika does, then grins and waves Leorio over to sit between them. “Leorio! Come here, the breeze is nice. And will you pass me a soda?”

“No thanks!” he says, then inches forward to pass Gon a can. “It’s pretty high up. I don’t know how you guys don’t feel like you’re gonna fall.”

“What kind of Hunter are you?” Kurapika says, holding out his hand too. Leorio rolls his eyes and passes him a drink.

“A reasonable one, who thinks it’d be really stupid to die from something boring, like, for example, falling off a cliff. Drowned in the ocean. Mauled by a bear.”

“You think being mauled by a bear is boring?” Gon says, making a face at him. “I don’t know…”

“Okay, fine, uh. Trampled by a moose.”

“That’s even less boring!” Gon protests. “If it’s here, how did the moose get on the island? You can’t just bring a moose onto an island.”

“What about… buried alive?” Kurapika says. “In a landslide,” he says, frowning when they both look at him. “That’s not exciting, is it?”

“I feel like we need to make a call now on whether it’s boring or not to die in a natural disaster,” Leorio says, frowning. “I dunno.”

“Not boring,” Gon says firmly. “Just sad. Okay, what about… choking on your food?”

Leorio finishes chewing carefully, then swallows and says, “Definitely boring. Anyone else want fruit salad?”

“Me!” Gon says, and Leorio sidles up to grab it, just far enough that when he lies down, it’s easier to hear them. He pops it open, and they both turn a little towards him, Gon pulling one leg up to fold next to him and Kurapika swiveling, then pointing at one of the seaweed-wrapped rice tubes. Leorio hands it over, then folds his arms and props his chin on top of them.

Then Gon says, “Remember the Trick Tower? I don’t think any of those would’ve been boring.”

“Nothing about that entire thing was boring!” Leorio says, scowling up at him. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Being trapped in that room with Tonpa tried my patience,” Kurapika says, with a little crease between his eyebrows.

“Tonpa!” Leorio says, then makes a face. “That scumbag. You think he’s dead?”

“He did get through a bunch of exams before, right?” Gon says. “He’s probably still alive.”

“What a pity,” Leorio says, and sighs.

“It’s a pity that you bet so poorly,” Kurapika says, apparently more stuck on the tower than he lets on, like a jerk.

“I was a kid! And _extremely_ horny. You would’ve bet the same.”

Kurapika and Gon exchange glances, then Kurapika just rolls his eyes and turns back towards the ocean.

“No?” Gon says. “I really don’t think so.”

“She got inside my head!”

“It was unfair to pit you against a skilled and experienced gambler with professional expertise in emotional manipulation,” Kurapika agrees resignedly. “But perhaps you at least learned something from the experience.”

“Nope,” Leorio says, then rolls onto his back and shuts his eyes. “Not a goddamn thing.”

Gon laughs and says, “I wish I’d known, though. I would’ve told you my trick.”

“Sorry, what?”

“For rock-paper-scissors! There’s an easy trick. I win almost every time.”

“Hang on now, you’re saying you’ve known this cheat the entire time, and you never mentioned it to me? What kind of friend are you?” Leorio demands, sitting up.

“My bad,” Gon says, grinning as he rubs the back of his head. “It just never came up, I guess. Killua was really mad about it, too. Did you know I think he has a gambling problem?”

“No, I did not,” Leorio says. “Okay, tell me about that later. What’s this trick?”

Kurapika’s turned back to watch them, soda in one hand, half-eaten rice roll in the other, pre-cut into bite-sized slices and sprinkled with little sesame seeds. Leorio steals two pieces and pops them in his mouth, wins one hand against Gon, then throws losing hands for the next five minutes while Gon just laughs and says, "You're not watching!" 

Little twerp.

They stay out there for the rest of the afternoon, until Gon takes a look at the horizon and announces, “If we head back now, it’ll still be a little light, and we can see the sunset from the house.”

“We can’t watch the sunset here?” Leorio says, and Gon makes a little face and says, “I didn’t bring any flashlights to get back with.”

Good point. They pack up and start trooping on back. Kurapika’s quiet now, but it’s a chill quiet where he’s still listening, occasionally makes a remark but mostly just hangs around, and Gon’s still busy catching them up on all the new people he’s met since the last time they’ve seen each other. It’s nice. Somehow familiar, though they’ve never really done this before. But maybe they can again. After this, they might all be busy for a while, but next year could work. He can bring it up with all of them then.

\---

Leorio is awake before his alarm, reaches for his watch without opening his eyes. 2 A.M., his shift at sentry duty, bed’s too comfortable and it’s unfair. Maybe he’s wrong and it’s still too early and he can keep sleeping.

His hand closes around bare skin, and he startles all the way awake. No watch, no camp, no undergrowth surrounding them, no unknown murmurs in the night. He’s off the Dark Continent, in a house, on an actual bed, and the moon is full and bright and shining right into his face. If he cranes his head up, he could look out the window and see the town, the port, the waves rolling in, ceaseless and benign. Seems like a lot of effort, though. He could just buy a postcard.

He shuts his eyes and tries to go back to sleep, but he forgot to close the curtains, and the moon is too bright. If sitting up seemed like too much effort, pulling the curtains shut is totally impossible, so he just groans and puts his arm over his eyes.

There’s a small scuff to his left, and then a suppressed sniff. Leorio frowns, then rolls over, squinting into the half-dark. “Kurapika?”

There’s a shuffle, then silence. Suspicious.

He shuts his eyes and waits, trying to keep his breathing natural and even by not thinking too hard about it, and after a while, Kurapika sniffs and exhales unevenly, sounding like his breath is being shaken out of him. Almost definitely crying. Leorio sighs, sitting up on the bed and rubbing his face. Kurapika goes still immediately.

“What’s up,” Leorio says, then coughs to clear his throat. He tries again. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” Kurapika says, sounding a lot like someone trying to pretend he doesn’t need to blow his nose.

“Bad dreams? Or just can’t sleep?”

He doesn’t expect an answer, but after a moment, Kurapika says reluctantly, “Both.”

He’s probably been doing this for weeks and hasn’t said a word about it. Stupid stubborn asshole. Leorio slides off the bed, takes a pillow and the comforter with him. “That’s it, push over.”

“You have your own bed,” Kurapika says, hardly moves when Leorio drops the pillow down beside his.

Leorio _tsks,_ flops down on top of Kurapika’s covers, pulls his own comforter over himself. “That’s not the point. Come here,” he says, shuffling close as he puts one arm over Kurapika’s shoulders, other sliding beneath his head. He settles against Kurapika, who still fits perfectly beneath his chin. “No one should have to sleep alone if they’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Kurapika says, breathing short and shallow through his mouth. “This isn’t necessary.”

“It is, because you’re my friend. This is just what friends do.”

“Is it?”

“Sure. How many friends do _you_ have? I have lots. Just take my word for it.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. Now stop talking, I’m trying to sleep.”

Kurapika shifts, and Leorio frowns, ready to pull him back in, but he only rolls over, head still pillowed on Leorio’s arm, face nearly to his chest.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says unevenly, voice strained.

“Go to sleep.”

“I don’t need you to do this.”

“Shh.”

Kurapika sighs. After a moment, he says, “I wish--”

Leorio jostles him. “Hey. Shhh. I’m trying to sleep. This helps me sleep.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah,” he says, shuts his eyes. “Our apartment was always crowded. And when I was a kid, I was real small.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So I got squeezed in anywhere. Don’t get me wrong, I like having my own bed and everything, but sometimes, you know. You just miss it.”

Silence, then Kurapika says softly, “I know.”

Leorio’s too tired to even flinch. God, will he ever stop putting his foot in his mouth with this guy?

“Yeah, I bet,” he says quietly. Then he settles a hand on Kurapika’s back, does a quick rub as an apology, but it makes Kurapika sigh unevenly and curl towards him, still not quite touching, so he keeps doing it. Just gentle and slow. 

Hard to tell who feels better about it, him or Kurapika. Probably him. It’s just nice to feel Kurapika again, be close. Like last time, on the boat. Probably Kurapika will ditch this time too. He tries to resign himself to it, but it sucks. He falls asleep anyway.

In the morning, no one is beside him, but it’s suspiciously dim. He’s pretty sure he forgot to close the curtains. He rolls over to squint up at the bed, and Kurapika is there, sitting by the window, curtains open just enough for him to look out. He glances over at the sound, though. That’s just like him. Always on alert. Never knows how to relax.

Leorio pulls the blankets up around his shoulders. Joke’s on Kurapika; he gets both of them now. “Did you sleep?” he manages, whole face feeling heavy, doesn’t bother lifting his head from the pillow.

Kurapika frowns at him like he’s talking nonsense for a second, then his face clears and he says, “Yes.”

“‘Kay,” he says, then rolls over again, shutting his eyes. “I miss you.”

The pause is shorter this time. “I’m right here.”

“No, I mean-- Just. All the time. Not just now. You know,” he says, then stops himself, can’t find the right words. He’s still tired, still thinking hazy. Even if he found the right way to describe whatever it is, he’d just make a fool of himself. He burrows further into the blankets. “Nevermind.”

There’s only silence for a while, then Kurapika says cautiously, “Leorio?”

“I’m going back to sleep,” he says, steals Kurapika’s pillow to put over his head. Not like he was using it.

When he wakes up again, the curtains are all the way open, and Kurapika is sitting on the floor beside him, leaned back against the bed as he reads. 

“When’d you get there?” he says groggily, then pulls the pillow over his head again to shield his eyes.

Kurapika doesn’t even glance up.

Leorio grumbles, then reaches out to tap at his book. “Hey.”

Before he even gets there, Kurapika has already redirected his gesture, hand flat beneath his wrist. “So you’re awake.”

Leorio snatches his hand back, scowling out from beneath his shelter. “Of course I’m awake. What time is it?”

“Nearly 10:30,” Kurapika says, already gone back to reading. “You’re welcome to sleep longer. Gon is doing some schoolwork. He has a great deal to get through.”

“Ugh,” Leorio says, then rubs his eyes. “Nah, I’m awake. How long’ve you been up?”

“Longer than you.”

“What kind of half-ass answer is that?” Leorio says, managing to sit up. He yawns, then stretches his arms in front of him, feels a weird twinge in his neck and rubs at it, scowling. “You okay? You get water?”

“I’m fine.”

“You eat breakfast yet? I’m starving.”

“There was breakfast at 8,” Kurapika says. “Lunch is at 12.”

Then he adds, soft and amused, “There may still be leftovers, but I wouldn’t count on it. Gon did say he was still hungry.”

“That kid’s a _menace,”_ Leorio says, stretching his arms over his head now. It sorta helps. He yawns again, then finishes rubbing the grit out of his eyes. He’s like. Halfway back to being a functioning human again. “Was there coffee?”

“I am sure there will be coffee if you ask for it.”

“You want coffee?”

Kurapika turns a page and says quietly, “No, thank you.”

“‘Kay.”

He gets up and ambles down the stairs to find Gon at the dining room table, scratching his forehead with the end of a pencil as he stares down at some homework.

“‘Morning,” Leorio says, stifling another yawn, and Gon looks up, expression clearing.

“Good morning, Leorio! I ate all the pancakes, but we can make more,” he says, grinning. “Or eggs? I can make eggs, too.”

“You can finish your math homework, why don’t you?” Leorio says, grins back at him as he groans.

_“Le-o-ri-o!_ It’s really hard!”

“Come on, it’s just algebra.”

“The numbers aren’t even numbers all the time!” Gon wails, raking his hands through his hair. “Then you need to put the letters together and they’re numbers again, and then you divide them and then--”

“You did like five sheets before,” Leorio says, heading into the kitchen, Gon getting up from his chair and trailing after. “I saw you.”

“Yeah, but you were helping me. Can you help me again? I can make coffee.”

Leorio gets a mug, squints dubiously at the pot. “There’s none left? I can just drink what’s left.”

“Gran wanted it, and now she’s taking a nap by the garden,” Gon says, already pulling out the used filter. He tosses it, and starts filling in the new one. “Besides, don’t you want fresh coffee?”

“Are you _bribing me_ for homework help?”

“Nooooo,” Gon says. He rinses out the coffeepot then fills the machine with water, flicks the switch. “Well, kind of. But it’s for school, so I think it’s okay.”

Leorio snorts. “Have you asked Kurapika?”

“Kurapika read the chapter, then he just sounded like the chapter when he tried to explain, and it was still really confusing,” Gon says, making a face. “He did some examples, but then he wouldn’t help with the ones on my sheet, because I ‘wouldn’t learn if he just did them for me,’ or something.”

“Sounds about right,” Leorio says. “I told you not to give him the book.”

“I thought he’d be interested,” Gon says, wounded. 

“Kurapika’s too smart to get suckered into doing any work for you.”

Gon thinks about that for a second, then says, “What about you?”

“I--” Leorio begins, then glares at him. “Excuse you! You’re just lucky you’re a real close friend.”

Gon beams at him. “Thanks, Leorio!”

Leorio grumbles to himself. Stupid kids and their stupid math homework, and stupid _friends._ Having friends is stupid. “You’re welcome,” he says. “Lemme get my coffee and I’ll give you a hand.”

\----

Gon excuses himself from their camping trip right before they are set to leave.

“Sorry, guys,” he says, handing them the last of the supplies and looking appropriately rueful. “I think I really need this extra credit assignment, or they might hold me back a grade.”

“I can’t believe you _still_ have homework to do,” Leorio says, with every sign of genuine dismay. 

Kurapika continues eyeing Gon, who won’t look back at him.

Instead, he is smiling up at Leorio and saying, “Hah, yeah! You guys go ahead, though. Maybe I’ll finish early and come join you.”

Kurapika resettles the bag on his shoulder. “Will you?”

Gon glances at him, then at his feet. “I dunno!” he says, looking back at his house. “We’ll see!”

“We could wait for you,” Leorio says. “Do you need help?”

“No,” Gon says immediately. 

Kurapika says, “Is it math?” and Leorio laughs as Gon scowls up at him.

“No! It’s just a book report.”

Kurapika exchanges a look with Leorio, who is now making no attempt to hide his dismay. If cornered, Leorio will assist. It’s just the cornering him that will be troublesome. And then the book report itself.

“I suppose it would be difficult for us to help you,” Kurapika admits. “We would have to read the book, wouldn’t we?”

“Like there isn’t a summary online,” Leorio mutters.

“That won’t work,” Kurapika tells him, and Leorio rolls his eyes and says, “Oh my god.”

“We can’t use BarkNotes, the teacher says she’ll know,” Gon says, and Leorio just rolls his eyes more exaggeratedly, and says louder, _“Oh_ my _god.”_

“It’s a cheap shortcut when he knows better,” Kurapika says, frowning at him.

“Lighten up,” Leorio says, grimacing back. “School’s not about doing it right, it’s about doing it _smart.”_

“It would be _smarter_ to do it right the first time.”

“It’s _way smarter_ to know you only have to get it done once, and that it’s pretty much useless for anything else, and just get it done as fast as possible,” Leorio retorts.

“I’d feel kinda bad,” Gon says. “She’s really nice, and she said it was one of her favorite books.”

Leorio looks at him for a long second, then puts both his hands on Gon’s shoulders. “Kid,” he says. “You’re a sucker.”

“Uh?” says Gon.

“He’s _responsible,”_ Kurapika tells him, then says, “Gon, it’ll go much faster if you break it into sections.”

“Everyone knows _that,”_ Leorio says, disgusted, and Kurapika glares at him.

“Then everyone should know how to do their work _properly.”_

Leorio just scoffs, turning towards him and planting his feet the way he does when he’s about to really get into an argument. “You saying I don’t know how to work ‘properly’?”

“I didn’t say that, but it’s no fault of mine if you have a guilty conscience,” Kurapika says, folding his arms.

“Guys,” Gon says. Leorio ignores him, and if that’s the case, then Kurapika certainly won’t be the one to back down. He begins speaking at almost the same time as Leorio, and somewhere to the side, Gon heaves a sigh and steps back.

When the house door opens, he stills, Leorio pausing mid-sentence to glance over as well. Mito emerges from the house with a sunhat, then stops and frowns at them. “I thought you’d gone half an hour ago. Are you still here?”

“They’re trying to help me with my homework,” Gon says resignedly, still standing to the side, arms folded. “I said I’d be fine.”

She looks at him, then back over at Kurapika and Leorio. “He’ll be fine,” she says, then flaps the sunhat at them. “You’re wasting daylight! Go!”

“Sure, yeah, we just--” Leorio begins, looking properly chagrined.

She swats him on the shoulder with the sunhat. “Go have fun! You’re only here for two more days.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Leorio says, all meekness now, and Gon laughs, gloom dissipating, then rummages in his pocket. He pulls out a folded square of paper, then smooths it out and holds it out to them.

“I wasn’t sure if you guys would remember it all, so I wrote down the directions for you. It’s basically the same trail as before, but turn right and some other stuff. Mostly you just follow the smell of water.”

“Gon,” Leorio says, looking exasperated again. “We’re on an island.”

“Drinking water,” Gon says simply.

“I see,” Kurapika says, then takes the paper. “Sensible.”

“You just _smell water?”_ Leorio demands.

“Like when a storm’s coming,” Gon says. “Or there’s a river nearby.”

“Kurapika, you too?” Leorio says, turning to him when he nods.

“You can’t?”

_“No,_ I can’t just _smell water._ It’s water, it has no smell!”

“I guess you’ll just have to learn,” Gon says cheerily, then puts his hands on their backs and pushes them along. “Anyway, I’ve got homework to do, so bye, guys! Have fun!”

Leorio is still glancing over his shoulder as they walk away, perplexed. “So what was that all about?” he says finally as they find the train leading into the jungle.

Kurapika eyes him, then ducks under a low-hanging branch. If he hasn’t figured it out, there’s really no good reason to enlighten him.

The trail is easy to find. Gon is a good guide, if a bit questionably motivated. From the break in the treeline, it’s a simple task to follow the path worn in the shrubbery, then take a right and walk up towards another hill. There’s the tunnel as he described, then the emergence into a crater, like a massive hand had reached down and scooped away the rock, leaving behind a hollow for grass and trees and vines to grow around a mirror-smooth lake.

They find a campsite by early afternoon, get it set up with little trouble. Leorio announces he is either going to go swimming or sunbathing, and he’s not quite sure which. He disappears into the undergrowth, then makes a fuss when Kurapika accidentally happens upon him getting ready several minutes later.

“Hey!”

“I’m getting wood for the fire!” Kurapika snaps, then immediately turns his back on him. “Besides, you’ve never been shy about your body.”

“I’m _very vulnerable_ right now! You can’t just startle a man when he’s changing!”

“It’s hardly ‘changing’ when you’re just taking off your pants,” Kurapika grumbles, then spots a likely branch ahead.

“Go away already!”

“I’m _going!”_ Kurapika shouts back, heading towards the branch and snapping it off with possibly more force than necessary. That’s about as much as he can easily carry now. He heads back to the campsite to drop off the first armload. It will be a warm night in a relatively peaceful area, but it would still be good to have a fire going throughout the night.

Leorio emerges from the trees wearing what appear to just be his boxers and heads directly into the water, wading in nearly hip-deep before ducking under completely, re-emerging some distance away. It appears he is unlikely to drown.

Kurapika gets up and goes for another round of firewood.

After the fourth armload, it looks as though they have enough. He begins stacking it, sorting it into two piles, one with the smaller branches, one with larger, then glances out over the lake where Leorio is just… floating, but on his back, hands folded over his stomach. Then, as though he feels himself being watched, he flips over and submerges again. 

It seems he’s having a good time.

Kurapika continues stacking the firewood, then goes to look over their supplies. Everything seems to be in good order. Matches, food, water, electric lights. They even have surplus, from when they thought Gon would be coming along with them. Gon, who has never been subtle.

He frowns at his bag, then opens it and peers suspiciously inside, half-expecting some addition that wasn’t there when he looked it over this morning. Nothing, thank goodness. He glances up as Leorio comes sloshing out of the lake, shuts his bag again to protect the books he borrowed from the water.

“I wasn’t aware you knew how to swim.”

“Pool’s cheaper than AC in the summer,” Leorio says, grabbing a towel and drying off his hair before going to rummage around in the bags. “Did you see any water? I feel weird about drinking lake water.”

“Try the one on the left.”

“Thanks.” He returns with water and sunblock, then settles down on a patch of sand with a sigh. After a moment, he glances over and says, “Doing okay?”

“Yes,” he says, and Leorio hesitates, then says, “Cool,” and starts reapplying sunblock.

Kurapika sorts through the books he borrowed from Gon’s house: a travelogue he hasn’t read yet, a children’s book about wizards, a brief compendium of flora and fauna native to the area. None seem interesting at the moment. He gets up and goes for a walk instead, returns well before dusk. Leorio props himself up on the towel he borrowed from Gon’s aunt, and waves.

“Just in time,” he says. “I got the fire set up but couldn’t find the matches.”

“They aren’t in the front pocket of the large bag?” Kurapika goes to sort through the supplies again, then pauses, fishes in one of his pockets, and produces the matches. Silently, he turns to Leorio, who snorts and lies down on his towel again.

“So light’er up.”

He rolls his eyes and starts the fire, though he is sure there was a second pack. He must have misplaced it somehow.

They prepare and eat dinner in relative quiet. There’s little he personally wants to talk about, and Leorio seems content to just watch the trees and the lake and occasionally complain about the insects. When it comes, the sunset is truly magnificent, stretching both across the sky and the surface of the water, the walls of the crater making it seem as though nothing else existed and they are utterly alone.

“Nice,” Leorio says, and snaps a picture with his phone. Then he lies back down with his hands behind his head, and watches the colors fade and darken, and eventually, the stars come out.

As with the sunset, the lake is still and deep enough to reflect, as though it were a mirror. They watch the stars, the slowly rising moon, the occasional slow light of an airship, and eventually Leorio announces, “I’m gonna go swimming again.”

“Now?”

He shrugs, already standing. “Well, yeah. Just to float a little. Not like you get a lot of chances like this.”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t wanna float? Seems like it’ll be relaxing.”

“No, thank you.”

Leorio shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, then heads off into the water. 

Kurapika watches him go, the silvery wake he leaves behind him, then takes off his shoes and socks, rolls up the bottoms of his pants, and heads down to the shore. Perhaps Leorio is right. He does not, however, have any interest in floating. Wading will do. 

Outside the circle of light from the fire, it is utterly dark, save for the moon and stars, and utterly still. There is the drone of some insects, the occasional splash--from Leorio, he presumes--and the soft sloshing of his own feet moving through the water. The night air is warm, with enough of a breeze to keep it from being stifling. Perhaps it is relaxing, as Leorio said. He looks across the lake, shining as though the night sky was stretched all before him, then up.

Looking up at the stars themselves is too stifling, somehow. The vastness is immensely more apparent, the sheer scale overwhelming. He returns his gaze to the water, which shows the same image, but feels nearer somehow. More tangible, which is comforting if not strictly true. What Leorio forgot to say is that it is also very beautiful.

There’s a faint splash off towards his right, a dark shape drifting along, made small by distance. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. This must be what it means to be at peace. He watches the stars ripple in the water, then retreats to dry land.

Leorio returns some time later, says, “Don’t look,” and Kurapika turns away as he presumably exchanges his wet clothing for dry.

“Okay,” Leorio says, and he turns back, considers the fire, then reaches to drop another log on it.

Leorio sighs, leaning back with his hands behind him, and says, “It’s wild out here, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. So many trees. Animals just wherever. Some other spooky stuff hiding where no one can see.”

“Perhaps.”

“Like the Dark Continent, right?”

“A little,” Kurapika says quietly, knees drawn up to his chest. “Very like, and yet completely different.”

It had been uneasy, that whole time. He has adapted to a new environment readily, for most of the past decade, but somehow the magnitude of that had been completely alien. Worse than the auctions, to be surrounded by people who would take him apart if they knew what he was; to be known and outright marked as an obvious intruder in a hostile land is no small thing.

And yet…

He turns slightly towards Leorio, just enough to be clear they are still speaking, not enough to see his face. “Did you ever think about staying?”

Leorio scoffs. “Nah. To hell with that! They’ve looked after themselves this whole time, and there are plenty of people I can help here. You couldn’t pay me _enough_ to stay there, and this is coming from _me.”_

It’s laughable, but Kurapika refrains, only huffs a short breath before facing forward again. “It’s all right, Leorio. I already know you. You don’t have to pretend.”

“Who’s pretending? I need the money, that’s not a joke!”

“Not with your license.”

“Don’t be such a know-it-all. Credit still needs to be paid back at some point, with or without interest.”

Kurapika continues watching the lake. “Well, what’s the point if there’s no interest?”

“Man, you really don’t get it, huh?” Leorio says, shuffling around to look towards him. “If you’re not around to pay your debt, it usually just gets passed on to someone else in your family, usually who inherits whatever you left behind.”

“Oh.”

Leorio must realize what he has said immediately, because he says quickly, “I mean. You know. In normal circumstances-- I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking about--”

“It’s fine. I can see how that would concern you. It wouldn’t be fair to your relatives at all.”

“Yeah.” Leorio is silent for a moment, then says with an air of forced good humor, “Good thing it didn’t work like that for you, huh?”

“I’ve paid all my debts,” Kurapika says with a certainty he doesn’t believe. “Inherited and otherwise.”

Leorio does not mention any balances he may have outstanding, which is generous of him. Instead he is silent, attention fixed out over the lake, the reflection of the sky ever-present within it. Then he says quietly, “When’s the last time you’ve seen so many stars?”

Kurapika stays still, gazing into the fire. “Not since the city,” he says. Hard to remember the last time he really looked for something in the sky. Perhaps during the exam? Maybe before? He settles into his sleeping bag and turns his back to the fire. “It’s cold. I’m going to sleep.”

Leorio is silent for a moment, then says, “Sure. Goodnight.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this chapter aside from overall work tags

It is a relief when they return to the city. Leorio has already handled the travel arrangements, and so there is nothing for him to look into. He stays on the boat deck for the entire ride, despite Leorio’s grumblings, then cannot sleep on the train.

Most likely this is because of Leorio’s snoring. It’s a crowded train, so they’ve wordlessly agreed it would be better to sit together rather than next to a stranger. The passengers across them have no such issues, have sprawled across each other somehow and are at least as soundly asleep as Leorio.

Kurapika stays where he is, arms folded, glowering at them. He would like to sleep.

He turns his glare onto Leorio, tilted so far over he is in danger of tipping into the aisle and heedless of it, then makes his decision and jabs him in the arm, not so hard that he will wake, but not so lightly it will be ignored either.

Leorio twitches and snorts in his sleep, then turns. The snoring ceases temporarily. Perhaps it will even stop altogether. Then he keeps turning, much too far, and tilts over, head coming to rest on Kurapika’s shoulder.

Kurapika continues to scowl down at him, weighing the options. He could wake Leorio up easily, but doubtless Leorio would only fall asleep again, and he’d have to repeat the cycle all over again, and Leorio would get snappish if it occurred too many times. Or sit awake still and solemn, most likely sulking. Or ask too many questions that don’t have convenient answers.

He lets it happen.

He must nod off, because the next thing he knows, someone is shaking him awake and he has both hands up before he realizes it’s Leorio, who has already taken his hand away. Perhaps Leorio is looking at him oddly. Perhaps it’s a guess made by an overactive imagination.

“You awake?”

“Yes,” Kurapika says, then looks away to rub his eyes, brush himself off.

“Then let’s go,” Leorio says, standing to retrieve their luggage from the overhead compartment.

From there, it’s only a taxi ride from the station to Leorio’s apartment complex. Not so bad. The receptionist recognizes him now and he is allowed to pass without further remark. Leorio stops to get his mail, takes a cursory glance and dumps half of it into the mailroom trash, then tucks the rest under his elbow as he heads towards the elevators.

“I’m sure some of that was important,” Kurapika says, then regrets it. He didn’t want to draw this out.

Leorio only makes a face, trying to keep three small packages and a handful of envelopes from escaping as he presses the up button. “Yeah right. Frat this, honors that. It’s all bullshit.”

The doors slide open. “I’m sure some of them have connections that could help you in the future,” Kurapika says, pressing the button for the correct floor and waiting for the doors to close.

“Uh, hello? Hunter? Member of the Zodiacs? I’ve already got all the high society I can handle.” Leorio laughs, then says, “I shouldn’t be applying to be friends with them. They should be applying to be friends with _me!_ Which is really what’s going on here.”

“Is it?”

“Hah, yeah,” Leorio says, leaning against the elevator wall. “Makes it easier for the other members to brag. ‘Oh sure, they’ve got a pool table, but _we’ve_ got an actual Hunter.’ Knew I should’ve stayed incognito.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Do you have any idea how much professors gossip? Even if they didn’t, I was gone for like a year and a half, then showed up again in the same cohort. Someone’s gonna ask questions, and it was too much effort to lie.”

Kurapika considers him, then says, “I suppose.”

Leorio snorts. “Whatever. What do you know about class attendance.”

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. It’s too much trouble to argue, even if Leorio’s decision seems extremely unwise. No sense in pressing the issue, though. He has no real reason to, either. 

They arrive at Leorio’s apartment, where Leorio promptly drops his bags, then scatters his mail over the kitchen island and begins sorting through it, muttering to himself. Kurapika sets his own bag down and looks over the kitchen and living room, still just the same as when they left. 

“Oh, here,” Leorio says, beckoning him over, then handing him a package. “This is for you.”

“Me?” he says, frowning as he turns it over. “How do you know?”

Leorio points to the label. “No one spells my name like that. I told people to use that if they need something to get to you.”

Kurapika frowns, inspecting the rest of the package. There is a return address, but it’s unfamiliar, and something about the district code doesn’t seem quite right. The handwriting is stilted. Just a standard postal box. “Who knows I’m here?”

“Killua, Gon, Melody. Alluka. Some of the Zodiacs. I don’t know. I didn’t tell anyone else.”

“That’s too many people,” Kurapika says, still frowning. He struggles briefly with a flap of the cardboard, then pops it open and pours the contents onto the counter. Two smaller parcels drop out, one a box of candy, and one covered in bubblewrap and tape. An envelope follows, clipped shut with a bobby pin, but otherwise unmarked.

He recognizes the little charm hanging from the pin and slides it off, sets it on the table. Alluka had been fond of that one, and found several excuses to affix it to him during her visit with Killua. He opens the envelope and finds two pages enclosed. The first is a letter in Killua’s handwriting:

_‘Kurapika--_  
_Saw this and thought you’d like it because it’s old-fashioned, like you. Also a Chocorobo, because they’re the best. Alluka wanted me to send this drawing too. Let her know if you like it._  
_\--Killua’_

He will have to save the drawing for later. Alluka is her brother’s sister through and through, and he can’t trust her humor when Leorio is around. He turns his attention to the small wrapped parcel instead, peels open the bubble wrap and finds--

“A Gamejoy?” Leorio says, grinning. “Haven’t seen one of those since I was a kid.” He flicks a switch, and it chimes on, screen lighting. “Look at that! He even put in new batteries.”

“Oh,” Kurapika says, and manages to close his hands around the device when Leorio passes it back to him. He’s seen similar things occasionally, and thinks he remembers how to hold them.

“It’ll be more comfortable if you put your whole hand behind it,” Leorio says. “Yeah, like that. It’s supposed to be in your palms, like a phone.”

“I’ve never…” Kurapika begins, fingers shifting uneasily. His grip seems right, but still uncomfortable. “I didn’t have--”

Leorio shrugs. “Yeah, I figured. Me neither, but sometimes a kid at school would let us play hers. She’d charge ten jenny a minute. It added up.”

A short animated sequence begins, set to a lively electronic beat. Something with multicolored blocks.

“Oh hey,” Leorio says, looking over his shoulder. “Tetris. Nice.” Then he heaves a sigh and says, “I’m gonna zone on the couch for a little. Traveling always takes it out of me.”

“Go ahead.”

Leorio does just that, slouching away and collapsing onto the couch with a sigh. Kurapika stays where he is, elbows resting on the kitchen counter as the tutorial shows which buttons correspond with which movements of the little blocks. There’s the slight, staticky sound of the TV turning on, then the volume lowers.

Kurapika glances up. He could go to the study, but he would rather wash before lying down. The couch will do. 

He walks over and settles on the far end, and aside from the low undercurrent of the television, it is still and silent. Leorio, for once, seems utterly uninclined to speak. Kurapika passes the first level of Tetris. The underlying principle is simple to grasp, only slightly more difficult to put into practice. The most difficult aspect is the randomized queue of forthcoming blocks, and he will have to strategize accordingly.

He has made it to level eight when Leorio sighs and heaves himself upright. “I’m gonna take a quick nap before class. You need anything?”

“No,” Kurapika says, knees folding closer to his chest as he focuses on the little blocks on the screen. He has his back pressed into the corner of the couch, secure and warm from residual body heat. Sitting against Leorio would have been warmer.

He frowns, rotates a block several times before slotting it neatly into place. Just in time. “You were gone for nearly two weeks. Don’t they have some sort of… policy?”

Leorio rubs his face, elbows resting on his knees. Then he leans his chin on one hand and says, “Most of it was just vacation, really. Then you can tell’em there was some sort of travel difficulty. I just said it was Hunter business.”

“Unscrupulous.”

Leorio scoffs, drops his hand and straightens again, making to stand. “Like they could tell! Not too many Hunters in med school. You get a lot of leeway when you’re one-of-a-kind.”

“Sometimes,” Kurapika says. He should know. The exhaustion hits him suddenly, and he focuses on the blocks to keep the tremor out of his hands.

He must have said something incorrectly, because Leorio settles suddenly back onto the couch, to look over at him intently. “Hey, sorry, did I say something…? Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he says. “Not at all.” He’s only tired, is all. It will pass.

Leorio is still watching him closely. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says sharply, then flicks off the little handheld system. He hadn’t finished the level yet. He doesn’t care, and sets the system down on the table with a little _clack,_ turns away into the corner of the couch.

“It doesn’t have to be fine,” Leorio says.

He has nothing to say to this, folds his hands together. He knows who and what he is. It doesn’t cause him concern any longer.

“It can be whatever you want.”

Without intending to, he says, “I want them back.”

He shouldn’t have said it. It hurts like a physical blow, like he’s been winded after a hard fall; he must be more tired than he thought. He pulls his feet onto the couch, puts his face against his knees, mouth open and eyes shut, arms holding himself together. There isn’t anything he wants that he can have, but he knew this already. There’s too much that can’t be undone.

“I want them _back,”_ he says again, like a coward, and there is no stopping it. “I want to see my parents. Pairo should-- Pairo should be _here. I want to go back. I want them alive. I don’t--_

“I didn’t want this to happen. _I didn’t know!”_

Then like a curse, his mouth dries and his throat tightens, and the rest refuses to come out. It is, quite frankly, a disappointment. If there was anyone who should be told, it should most likely be Leorio, who is owed something, which may as well be the truth. All of it: the test, Pairo switching the eyedrops, his failure in town, and how the news of a red-eyed demon must have spread.

He begins to cry, face and ears burning with embarrassment. Hasn’t he cried enough already? It should be a finite thing. It should be done and over with. It shouldn’t be so hard to catch his breath, chest jerking, throat clenching. It’s been a while. It’s familiar by now. It was his fault and he will never be done with it.

A weight settles across his shoulders. He doesn’t want it, but Leorio does not remove his arm. Instead he says gently, conversationally, “Pairo? Friend of yours?”

“My best friend,” Kurapika manages, eyes burning as he presses his face against his knees. “My very best friend. It was supposed to be us. Together.”

He is close enough that Leorio cannot hide his flinch, small and tight and quickly suppressed, but still there. After a while, Leorio says tired and low, “Yeah,” and exhales slow. “It was.”

Kurapika scrubs his eyes on one sleeve. The episode is over. He has regained control, though his chest still aches and his stomach hurts. 

Leorio still has an arm over his shoulders. “They only let one of you go?”

“He was sick. I was going to find him a doctor.”

Leorio inhales suddenly, sharp and pained. “You never told me that.”

There was no reason to. Kurapika settles one hand over his face and tries to breathe steadily.

“So he was there when…”

“Yes,” he manages. He was in a small diner when he heard the news, trimming vegetables at an empty table in exchange for that day’s lunch and dinner and something to take with him the day after. The family who owned the diner would have given it all to him for free, and had nearly called the police besides, but he had insisted and let them leave the elder a voicemail, and there had been no reports of missing children in the nearby towns.

Instead there had been a short news segment, a two minute rehash of an older story, since he must have missed it the first few times around. A curiosity, a murdered and ritualistically maimed cult. No witnesses. No survivors. No explanation, save a note.

He’d run, and never gone back.

“I’m so sorry,” Leorio says, still gentle, but his voice is tight with some old, old grief.

Kurapika does not look at him. He tries to say it is old news, nothing for him to be sorry for, something that is over and done, but he cannot get it out. When he tries, he instead makes a truly humiliating sound, then shuts his mouth. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands so he does not have to see Leorio’s expression.

Leorio does not take his arm away. “Do you want to be alone?”

He should say yes. When he reaches to pull Leorio’s hand away from his shoulder, he manages a grip on the first two fingers, then stops. He’s warm. He’s there. It’s so hard to let go.

Leorio waits, then says finally, “I’ll take that as a no.” Then he’s turning carefully, arms opening, drawing Kurapika against his chest. He is still warm. Still solid. Kurapika settles against him, forehead to his collarbone, breathes him in. He is not Gon, to recognize someone and track them for miles by their scent, but this is almost familiar. He would like it to be familiar. He would like to stop wanting things he cannot have.

Leorio does not move throughout this, remains still and steady, like he is waiting for something. Then he says, “Hey,” softly, and shifts. Without taking his arms from Kurapika’s shoulders, Leorio is leaning back, drawing them both down until Kurapika is lying between him and the back of the couch. Kurapika goes, because it is simple, then realizes he has been boxed in.

An underlying flicker of terror jolts through him first, then resignation. Leorio does nothing else, though, only lies there solid and warm with one arm around his shoulders and the other beneath his head. His breathing is slow and steady, and he is not close enough to press Kurapika back against the cushions, not far enough to leave him cold or alone.

It is… comforting. His presence is comforting. He could ask for more, he knows, and Leorio would oblige. He’s done it before. It would be selfish and unkind, but he has done many unkind things already. Doubtless he could do them all again, if necessary. He is capable of much more than he had ever dreamed, when necessary.

“It’s okay,” Leorio says, and gently pats Kurapika’s shoulder before letting his hand settle again. It is a kind gesture, and somehow this is more unbearable than anything else.

Kurapika’s breath catches in his throat. Then his chest. It catches, and is not released, and then he is crying. Again. Unstoppably, and irrevocably. It is humiliating. It hurts. He cannot see, cannot speak, can hardly breathe. It feels as though he is dying. He wishes it were true.

Hard to tell when it starts, but it slowly becomes apparent that Leorio is speaking to him, soft and low. “Kurapika, it’s all right. I’m here. It’s fine. Kurapika,” he says, then finally pulls him close, repeating his name over and over again, like an old countryside charm. If he can be named, he can be restored. He can be kept. “Kurapika. _Kurapika.”_

Hard to remember what it means to be Kurapika anymore. Any of them: his parents’ well-loved and precocious child, Pairo’s friend, the orphan, the rookie Hunter, the young boss, the royal guard. They are no longer anywhere to be found. This body only has room for grief.

It empties eventually. Or he only reaches his limit, must wait another day so he can sleep and wake and go through this all again, for the rest of his life. If that’s the case, he doesn’t regret the bargain he struck at all.

When he glances up, Leorio has his eyes shut, could be dozing but for the restless motions of his hands, one flat against Kurapika’s back, thumb inscribing a small arc between his shoulder blades, other curved around the back of his head, occasionally smoothing down his hair. His face is wet.

Now he is Kurapika, someone who has made Leorio cry.

He sighs heavily, shifting back against the couch, sliding his hands to Leorio’s shoulders. “Leorio,” he says, trying to press him back. It is difficult to breathe. He sniffs, and Leorio’s arms tighten around him.

“Just a couple more minutes,” Leorio says, expression miserable and worn. He still has his eyes shut.

It becomes much longer than a few minutes.

“Leorio. Didn’t you have a class?” 

“It’s fine,” Leorio says without moving. “I’ll talk to the professor. I’ll take it pass-fail.”

He’s always been soft-hearted. Kurapika blinks then says, throat tight, “You are much too kind.”

“I’m just the right amount of kind,” Leorio declares, sitting up abruptly, then standing and going to turn the light on in the kitchen. “Anyway, it’s dinnertime. You think you’re up for eating something?”

It’s colder without him. Kurapika reaches up to the back of the couch and pulls the blanket over himself, but it is, as he expected, a disappointment. He settles it around his shoulders nonetheless, and wipes his eyes. They hurt. His nose hurts. His chest hurts. How tiresome.

“Kurapika?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Leorio continues rummaging around in the kitchen, starts something in the microwave, runs the faucet briefly. When his back is turned, Kurapika slowly inches back into a sitting position, leaning into the couch corner again, head resting on its back. He has no interest in doing anything else.

Leorio disappears into his room, re-emerges wearing a different shirt. On the second round of microwaving, Leorio returns to the couch, holding something in his hands. “You have to drink something, though.”

Kurapika glances at him from the corners of his eyes, does not move the rest of his head. It must be a mug Leorio is holding out to him; he can see the faint suggestion of a handle in his peripheral vision. He doesn’t comment on the new shirt, only straightens slightly and reaches for the mug.

“Watch your fingers, it’s hot.”

It is hot, and sweeter than he likes, but there is some mint, some chamomile, some other tastes he does not know the names for. He takes another sip, then rests his head against his elbow and shuts his eyes. If nothing else, it’s something to hold.

Leorio settles in the center of the couch, holding his own mug. He’s too tall to sit back comfortably unless he slouches, so he does. They don’t speak.

When the microwave chimes again, Leorio gets up, and returns with a plate of pizza bagels, one already in his mouth. He sets them on the table, then pulls it close, within easy reach, and turns on the TV, flipping past the dramas to the latest trivia-based gameshow.

“Cozy?” he says, mouth full, then doesn’t even wait for an answer before reaching over to settle the blanket more securely over Kurapika.

“You don’t have to do this,” Kurapika tells him.

Leorio just shrugs, eats another pizza bagel.

Kurapika shuts his eyes, turns his face against his arm. “I don’t want you to do this.”

“Good thing that’s not up to you, then,” Leorio says without a hint of rancor, then nudges him. When he looks, Leorio is offering him the plate. “Bagel?”

It’s easier to take one than it is to refuse, so he does. He’s let Leorio down enough before.

“Careful, they’re hot.”

Kurapika takes a bite. He’s already burned his tongue on the tea. And now he’s burned the roof of his mouth.

“My god,” Leorio says, seeing him wince. “Don’t be like that. Take your time.”

He offers the plate again, and Kurapika shoves it back. One is enough. Leorio rolls his eyes, but sets it back on the table. Kurapika takes another sip of his tea, then settles his face back against his arm. He shouldn’t have even taken the first bite. He’s beginning to feel hungry now.

He waits until Leorio’s attention is fixed on the television for a moment of dramatic tension, obviously manufactured, then eats the rest of the pizza bagel. At the next commercial break, he takes another mouthful of tea, and shuts his eyes. There’s a slight motion on the couch, and when he opens them again, the plate is on the cushion between them, Leorio still watching the television with his chin propped on one hand.

Kurapika drinks more of his tea and swallows hard. It’s still hot. His eyes water. Choked, he says, “You were right.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve burned my tongue.”

“Sorry,” Leorio says, though he has nothing to apologize for. He stands, then leans to tap the mug. “Put that down. I’ll get you some water.”

While he is rummaging in the cabinet and running the water, Kurapika takes the opportunity to set the mug aside and wipe his eyes. He’s not interested in crying more tonight. Perhaps he should not have drunk his tea so fast. 

His face is dry by the time Leorio returns with a glass of water. When Leorio hands it to him, he manages a grip, says, “Thank you,” and his voice is steady.

He takes a sip, then brings the water close, both hands folded around it. The best thing to do would be to get up from the couch, go to the guest room, shut the door. That way, there is much less of a chance he will embarrass himself again. 

But first he would have to get up.

He shuts his eyes and stays where he is. Perhaps if they don’t speak, there will be nothing new to grate against the hollowness inside him, where he already feels abraded and raw. Perhaps Leorio will let it alone, let it rest. Most likely he won’t.

The volume on the television goes up. Not significantly, but just enough to notice. After a moment, Leorio shifts. He must take another pizza bagel, because something begins to crunch as he chews. 

The television host is beginning his next round of questions, and after a moment, Leorio mutters, “Not that, you bozo.” It’s a blatant attempt at restoring some semblance of normalcy.

Kurapika keeps his eyes shut, turns to wedge himself a little further into the corner of the couch. It’s a better angle for his neck. He takes another drink of water, and lets the television noise wash over him.

By the next episode, he has finished the water, has his arms folded in front of him as he surveys the screen.

“It’s obviously more than that, right?” Leorio says. “It’s not just me, right?”

“It’s a very low price for dishware,” Kurapika agrees quietly. “Especially of that caliber.”

“Exactly,” Leorio says, satisfied, then hisses, “No, price higher, you jackass!”

Kurapika exchanges his empty glass for the mug of lukewarm tea, takes a drink of that instead. It’s not so bad now. Still oversweet, but more tolerable as it cools. Leorio doesn’t ask him anything again, only makes offhanded comments about the contestants and the host and the commercials that play in-between, and it is manageable, so long as he doesn’t think about it. Just another night. One of many.

The previews for the next show begin to play over the credits, and he sighs. It is getting late, and he is beginning to feel as though he could sleep, but getting off the couch still seems more trouble than it is worth.

Leoro sighs as well, sitting up to stretch out his back. He rubs the back of his neck then says, “Hey. You sleeping here tonight?”

“Yes,” Kurapika says, then ventures carefully, “Unless you are?”

Leorio starts, as though poked by a pin. They haven’t spoken of it before, how sometimes in the dead of morning, Leorio will be on the couch, TV on low or muted, either asleep or fitfully awake. “No, it’s fine.”

Kurapika eyes him, then looks away. “Then yes.”

“Well,” Leorio says, uncertain. “All right.”

He makes no move to go, though. Kurapika waits. It is possible he is just tired and gathering himself up.

When he turns to see, Leorio is looking back at him, expression difficult to read. Or rather, it is plain enough, but unbearable. Quietly, Kurapika says, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Leorio replies, standing slowly. He hesitates a moment longer, as though he had something else to say, but thinks better of it and holds his peace. Instead he goes to take his dishes to the sink, and then he is gone.

\---

Kurapika spends the next few days haunting the apartment, settled in one spot for hours at a time. Maybe Whale Island was actually good for him. Maybe he’s tired of being squirreled away in his room all the time. The living room’s not much better, but at least it’s something. Usually he’s playing Tetris, but sometimes he just stares, either out the window or at the TV. Once or twice Leorio’s seen him apparently engrossed in a textbook, but he hardly ever turns any pages.

Honestly, Leorio prefers the Tetris. He slants a glance down towards his right shoulder, where Kurapika has decided to lean that night. He has his cardiology book open in his lap, and Kurapika has his gaze fixed on the TV. Some late night gameshow. The host has a great tie and terrible hair. No one’s getting the last few things that are the worst to get stuck in a vacuum cleaner.

“Someone should just suck it up and say ‘a dick’ already,” Leorio says, exasperated.

Kurapika makes a soft sound, either amused or annoyed. “And you would know because…?”

“Listen,” Leorio says, rolling his eyes. “Let me tell you something. Nurses, doctors, med students, doesn’t matter, they all tell stories. Some wild shit has gone down in the emergency room.”

“How illuminating,” Kurapika says, then settles back against the couch and shuts his eyes.

“What,” Leorio demands, playing it up because Kurapika likes to feel smug about getting a rise out of people. “You don’t think _I_ did that?”

“I would never,” Kurapika replies, but the corners of his mouth are curving upwards slightly.

“How stupid do you think I am? Next you’re going to think I tried to fuck a-- a-- I don’t know, a garden hose!”

_“No,”_ Kurapika says, looking up again, somewhere between skepticism and horror. “They _wouldn’t.”_

No one has. That he’s aware of, at least. Leorio shrugs. “Guy had a snake fetish.”

Kurapika actually laughs, and Leorio hides his grin behind one hand, glances towards the window. If he lets on how relieved he is, Kurapika’ll clam right up.

Good to see him laugh, though. His mood’s been picking up a little the past few days, piece-by-piece, but he still seems rundown. Like he’s spreading himself too thin. He needs way more sleep than he’s been getting. Sometimes he even fucks up when he’s trying to creep around the apartment late at night, lets a cabinet close too fast or bumps into something and hisses a curse Leorio’s not sure he recognizes. Not really like him. Honestly, he should just turn on a light.

When he glances back, Kurapika is watching him, the way he does sometimes when he thinks Leorio’s not looking or isn’t paying close enough attention. It’s a little unsettling. Or not _unsettling_ unsettling, it’s just… a lot of focus for anyone to be on the receiving end of, but ‘intense’ is just how Kurapika rolls.

“What?” he says, and Kurapika just watches him a second longer, because he’s too proud to admit he’s been caught, and too stubborn to pretend it didn’t happen. Then he looks away.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t believe me?”

Kurapika scoffs quietly, then shuffles further down the couch. Prickly asshole. Leorio squashes the urge to pull him back.

“Suit yourself,” he says. Kurapika just rolls his eyes, and resettles himself on the other armrest.

They get through the rest of the trivia show like this, Kurapika now pointedly not taking the bait when Leorio says something. It’s not like, bad, but it’s not great. Sucks even more because Kurapika was… well. He wasn’t relaxed, because he’s never relaxed, but he was really easing up on himself. Maybe it's best to just let it go for tonight, try again later. 

Leorio sighs and heaves himself upright on the couch. “Well, I’m headed to bed.”

“Mm.”

“You should too, it’s getting late.”

“Mmhm.”

Kurapika’s not looking, still watching TV, perfectly convinced they’ll both carry on the way they usually do. And that sucks.

Or, no, well, it doesn’t _suck,_ it’s _fine,_ but for a second it felt like-- It felt like things were gonna change. Like Whale Island had changed something. Not a lot of things. Just enough for maybe… there to be something he can do. So Kurapika can sleep at night. Or he’ll tell himself it’s so Kurapika can sleep at night, but maybe it’s just selfish, and he’s never been great at deciding this kind of stuff, but if it helps, even just a little, then it helps. He’d like to help. If Kurapika even wants help.

Like he’s a horrible fucking mind reader, Kurapika glances up at him, eyebrows raised slightly. Shit. Leorio tries to keep his face still, but he was probably standing there for like an entire minute doing that entire run-through, and now Kurapika’s looking at him _real_ intently.

“Leorio?”

Leorio hesitates, but maybe he should just get it over with. Kurapika will say no and it’ll be weird but they’ll both get over it. He takes a breath and says, “So do you wanna sleep alone?”

Kurapika just stares at him like a cornered animal, entire body frozen as he tries to decide what to do. The silence is already awkward, but Leorio gives it a few more seconds to see if maybe it’ll change its mind before he says, voice not really cooperating, “Because I don’t.”

Still no response from Kurapika. He’ll definitely refuse, and then things will get even more awkward, but they’ll have to hit some sort of saturation point eventually. It is silent, though. Really silent. Maybe Kurapika just wants him to say it outright so he can really say no. Already wincing, Leorio tries, “So if you want to, you could… join me?”

Kurapika hasn’t said anything yet, and he exhales through his teeth, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I don’t know, no, you’re right, this is a bad idea--”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah?” Leorio says, very aware of how stupid he sounds. Like he’s choking up. Like puberty hit him all over again, never sure which octave his voice was gonna come out on.

At least Kurapika looks about as awkward as he feels, face frozen somewhere between a smile, a wince, and absolute terror.

Leorio swallows hard, then tries, “Do… you want to?”

“I found it helpful,” Kurapika says slowly. “On Whale Island.” Then he takes a breath, lets it out unsteadily, hands knotting as he adds uncertainly, “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t,” Leorio says, then realizes how that must sound. “I mean, I really-- I’d like that.”

“Then,” Kurapika begins, and takes a breath, rubbing his hands over his face. “Then I’ll join you later.”

“Okay,” Leorio says, and it definitely seems higher than normal. Like a cartoon mouse. He clears his throat. “Sure. Cool. Later.”

He retreats. Brushes his teeth. Goes to turn off the light then turns it back on, because he has to wear _clothes_ to bed now, doesn’t he.

He doesn’t exactly have a pajama shirt, really. Just the makeshift one for Whale Island that’s in the laundry basket now after he spilled like half a jar of marinara on it the other day. Not much else worn down enough to be a pajama shirt, but he does have that new one with a hole in it he was saving to fix later. He pulls that one, looks for one of the older flannel pants he has, pulls those on too. Apartment’s cool enough that he should be fine, and it’s not like they’re snuggling or anything. It’s just. Guys being dudes who are… not dating. Probably. Definitely. Guys being dudes and helping each other through some tough times, and not dating.

Yeah.

He sits on the bed and looks dolefully over at the living room. They could be dating. Then he sighs and lies down. That’s not fair, they’ve both got their own shit going on. He turns out the light, tries to go to sleep.

He’s drowsing by the time Kurapika slips into his room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. Even with the rest of the apartment dark, there’s enough of a change that Leorio opens his eyes to find Kurapika standing on the far side of the bed, not too close, shoulders level and weight balanced. He keeps quiet, even if it is a little like a horror movie. If he says anything, Kurapika’ll spook and run.

Instead he slowly pulls back the covers and pats the empty space next to him, then settles himself again, shuts his eyes. His chest and stomach are cold by the time Kurapika finally settles onto the bed, but after a moment, Kurapika flips the covers over himself, lies there on the far side of the bed still and tense. Which is kind of the opposite of the goal here.

Leorio waits a little, to see if Kurapika’ll relax any, but it’s no good. Okay. Whatever. It’s not that weird. They’ve done this before.

He inches over and Kurapika tenses up, like he’s ready to catapult right out of bed. Okay.

He stops about half a foot away, and Kurapika is watching him, just a glint of eyes and the soft impression of a face in the mostly-dark, still tense. They’re both tense. 

Carefully, Leorio slides his hand over beneath the covers, manages to find Kurapika’s shoulder. Kurapika stiffens, then goes way too still, like he went to pull away and is trying really hard not to rethink his decision.

Once he eases a little, goes back to watching Leorio instead of over his shoulder for an exit, Leorio carefully pats his way down the mattress until he finds Kurapika’s hand, and slides his own over it.

It’s different, he guesses, when there are plenty of other places either of them could be sleeping. When it’s his bed, and not a guest room at Gon’s aunt’s place. When they say it out loud.

He gives Kurapika’s hand a little squeeze. “Okay?”

After a while, Kurapika carefully squeezes his hand back. He doesn’t say anything, just manages to catch Leorio’s eye in the dark, then nods once, small and contained. Well. Good. Leorio shuts his eyes and tries to get to sleep.

He wakes at 2 A.M., drowsy at first, then startled. Someone else sleeping beside him, someone else breathing his air, but the light from the window and the clock by his bed is enough. Kurapika’s drifted against him sometime during the night, just opens his eyes at the disturbance then shuts them again, huddles deeper into the blankets he’s lumped over himself. That’s nice. He’s warm. That’s also nice.

Leorio puts an arm around him, and he makes a little incoherent grumble, then turns so his back is pressed to Leorio’s chest. Leorio wedges a leg between them so Kurapika doesn’t wake up with a dick in his back. Old news at this point, really, but still. No reason to give him any excuses to refuse.

He shuts his eyes again, shifts when Kurapika sighs, waits for his breathing to even out again. It’s nice, he thinks, just to have someone close by. It’s nice that it’s Kurapika.

He’s still there in the morning. Leorio rolls over carefully, looks down at Kurapika either sleeping or faking it. The bags under his eyes are so dark they look painted on, like something in a made-for-TV movie; for his sake, Leorio hopes he’s sleeping. Even if he is, his eyebrows are still drawn down in a little frown, mouth set and unhappy. 

Still here, though. Still kicking. He’s really something else. A little distant, a little unreal. Not really the kind to stay in one place for very long.

Leorio sits up, rubbing his eyes, then yawning. Can’t be healthy to feel this uneasy so early in the morning, but it’s just hard to shake a lingering sense of dread when he looks down at Kurapika. He’s here now though, right? He stayed, didn’t he? At least for one night?

Leorio sighs, rolling out his neck, then pats Kurapika on the shoulder.

“Wake up,” he says. “Time for breakfast.” Eggs, scrambled because Kurapika won’t touch hard-boiled or over easy any more. Toast. Microwavable sausage patties. Fast and simple.

Kurapika just groans and turns his face into the pillow.

He taps Kurapika’s shoulder again. “Hey.”

Kurapika swats at his hand, then shuffles closer to the edge of the bed. Fine, whatever. Leorio heads into the kitchen, starts the coffee, then the toast.

He scrambles two eggs to start, slides them from pan to plate along with the toast and sausage, then turns off the stove and goes to poke Kurapika again.

Kurapika hasn’t moved an inch since earlier and comes awake slowly, not at all like he was during the exam, or even just a few weeks ago. Could be good, could be bad. Doesn’t really matter right now.

“Your eggs are getting cold,” Leorio tells him.

“I’ll be there,” he says, then turns and pulls the covers over his head.

Leorio shrugs and heads back to the kitchen. He kinda figured this would happen. It’s fine, he just gets to eat the eggs now, and he can make a new batch for Kurapika. He eats standing up, gets himself a cup of coffee.

The pan’s still hot and ready to go by the time Kurapika slouches out of the bedroom, face drawn and wary. He looks around the entire room before pointedly making eye contact, then carefully perches on one of the chairs at the counter.

“Morning,” Leorio says.

“Good morning,” Kurapika says.

Then silence. Leorio pours the eggs into the pan and pretends that scrambling them takes all his attention. He doesn’t know what Kurapika does. Maybe stares at a wall or something.

When he turns to hand over the plate, eggs steaming, toast just a little past golden-brown, Kurapika is just staring down at his hands.

“What’s up? You sleep okay?”

“Yes,” Kurapika says quietly. “I did.”

“Cool. Me too. Coffee?”

“Please.”

He puts the sugar and milk out first, because Kurapika won’t take it if it’s not convenient, which basically just means if he has to ask. Him and his stupid independent streak. By the time Leorio hands over the coffee, he’s staring at his plate, mouth set.

“Ah shit, I knew I forgot something,” Leorio says, then turns away to the drawer to get him a fork. Kurapika takes it without a word, but his jaw clenches, mouth pressing thinner. 

Leorio drinks another cup of coffee while leaning against the counter. He has to get ready to leave in a few anyway, and it might be weird to sit next to Kurapika right now. Weird for Kurapika, anyway. Not for him. It’s probably normal to sit beside someone you slept next to, right? It’s not weird.

He checks the time, then the news on his phone as Kurapika methodically works his way through the eggs plain, not even pouring any ketchup though it’s right there on the table. Doesn’t pepper his eggs either, doesn’t ask for any other kind of condiment, hasn’t this whole time, just powers on through no matter how good or bad it is. He never eats like he’s happy about it anymore. 

Not much to do about it. At least he’s eating. Leorio keeps scrolling. There was that new wrap place down on Twelfth. Might be nice to give it a try.

Kurapika finishes the eggs, leaves half the toast and most of the sausage. He starts on the coffee, one slow sip after another. Today he doesn’t even get three sips in before he just exhales slow and settles the mug on the countertop, doesn’t immediately pick it up again.

Neither of them have said anything else this whole time. This is… fucking awkward.

“So,” Leorio says, then clears his throat. If he chickens out, he’s got an article up on his phone, ready for forced and uneasy discussion. He glances up, and Kurapika is looking at him, which is fine but also terrible.

Leorio clears his throat again, then coughs. Got a crumb or something stuck in there. This is bad. This is really bad. Between this and their talk on the _Black Whale,_ this is somehow worse. “So would you want to… do that again? Sometime?”

“Not every night,” Kurapika says, then picks at the remains of his toast. Then he stops, hands settling on either side of his plate, and adds, the slowest Leorio’s ever heard him speak, “But some nights?”

“Yeah.”

His relief is palpable when he says, “Thank you,” low and fast and nearly under his breath. For an instant, it seems like he’ll say something else, but then he just draws himself up again and repeats, “Thank you,” and gets up to carry his plate to the sink.

Leorio leaves him to it and goes to get ready. Nothing fancy this morning, he’s kind of in a rush. Brush teeth, get dressed, do hair, check teeth again in sudden uneasy paranoia, swap tie. He finishes the knot and gives himself a final once-over in the mirror. Not too bad, if he says so himself. He finger-guns, then grabs his bag. Lookin’ fly.

Kurapika’s still at the kitchen counter when he hurries past on his way to the door. If he misses this bus, it’s gonna be another twenty minutes before the next one, and that’ll be a problem.

There’s a slight squeak as Kurapika swivels out of his chair. Leorio glances up, one hand on the doorknob. Maybe he forgot something. Did he forget something? Nah.

Kurapika gets as far as the end of the kitchen counter, then stops, does that thing where he folds his arms because he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Have a good day,” he says uncertainly. 

Leorio stops in the middle of pulling on his shoes. ‘You too’ just seems insincere; Kurapika has bad days and slightly better days, and it doesn’t look like he’s had a good one yet. Plus he’d just get cranky and have a bad day out of spite. Which is too bad, really. He’s overdue for something good. Not like he’s making it any easier on himself.

“Sure,” Leorio says, then finishes cramming his feet into his loafers, makes sure he hasn’t crushed the backs. “Take care.”

Kurapika startles at that, very slightly, just a flick of his eyes and little shift in his shoulders before he recovers. “Thank you,” Kurapika says quietly, doesn’t move as Leorio adjusts his tie and his bag and then heads out the door.

Silly to hope he’d say anything more. Leorio scoffs at himself, heads off towards the elevators. Still, though. It’s something pretty all right. Maybe he’ll keep getting better. Maybe he’ll stick around for a while. Maybe he’ll decide to stay for a really long time.

It could be nice. It could be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally feel like the next few chapters work better as a set, so keep an eye out for some early updates next week! Thank you, as always, for sticking around.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: _Strong_ reminder of the mental health issues content warning, and content warning for vomit. Brief mention of canon minor character deaths. Very light gore.

Late at night, Kurapika is walking down a familiar hallway, though he can’t quite place the location. It reeks, a sickly, cloying smell, like fresh blood and rotting fruit, and the floor now gives beneath his shoes, though nothing else has changed since he last looked. He looks again.

Just linoleum, scuffed towards the center and polished at the edges, with a slight shine under the sickly fluorescent lights, but when he takes another step forward, it feels as though it dips beneath his weight.

Not far. But just enough. He frowns, digs his heel in harder, and there is something unyielding beneath it all, not so far down, the way bone sits beneath muscle. He takes another step, pressing hard again, and the building begins to breathe around him. If he stays still, he will be trapped here forever. So he runs.

Each footstep lands like a blow, and the building rocks with each one. There is an exit up ahead, somewhere out of sight. Hard to say how he knows it, but he does. Dead ahead, then a left, then a right. Not so hard. He only has to outrun the building’s collapse. He has done worse before.

He hits the door shoulder-first, body pressing against the bar, and emerges into the jungle. He straightens, hardly winded, and the door slams shut behind him. Easy to see where he is. There is the river and the drop, familiar even now, and he walks alongside it, not too close to the edge. At the bend, he turns left into the undergrowth, heading towards the village. He cannot shake the feeling of being tracked again, like he was tracked before, waiting for the Spider to arrive at their chosen arena, sick with anticipation. The leaves brush against him like little hands, and stain his clothes and skin.

But then he is back.

The village is bright again. Still empty, but made new. He walks down the main road, knows exactly where he needs to go.

Home.

He pushes open the door and enters his office, files pulled out from storage and stacked haphazardly along the walls, which is not like him at all. Did someone else do this? Did he do this and forget? He cannot afford to be this careless.

He is examining the papers pinned on the walls, the documentation he stole from a small police station just along the border of his clan’s forest. It had been easy to break in, and not so easy to break out. He had hidden from patrols for a week before finally getting far enough away.

He had been too afraid to speak to anyone at that time. Even if he had, they couldn’t have helped him. So it had been a week alone with the bodies of his dead, each photograph a rebuke. He knows every detail by now.

He reaches out to touch one, and paper becomes skin and flesh beneath his hand. All the marks are there, just the same as he remembers. A second cousin, hanging there before him. Next to her, an uncle. Next to him, the elder. And on and on down the walls. Bodies take up such a shockingly small amount of space. Even Uvogin had seemed smaller when he was dead.

And just like that, the building begins to sway again, but it is different this time. A heavy, hated tread is circling his home. Either it has always been there or he didn’t hear it approach, which is careless. He should know better than to even think the name anymore. He has been careless, and must now live with the consequences.

If he was not there when his family needed him, he can at least safeguard their bodies. He tries to pull down his cousin, she is closest, but her face is wrong somehow. From the bruising patterns, her face shouldn’t have swollen that badly, but when he looks again, the underlying structure is different, then familiar, and it is his mother staring blindly back at him, it has always been his mother. He must not have recognized her.

No time for that now. He takes hold again and pulls harder, but she only gasps and points across the room, to where his father is pinned, and beside him, Pairo. He can’t let her go, but he can’t leave them there. If he stretches, he might be able to reach and take their hands, but nothing more. Pairo speaks, but he cannot understand.

“What?” he says, but the words are wrong, and Pairo shakes his head at him, speaks more urgently, but it is wind and static. _“What?”_

Pairo is frantically gesturing towards the door, shouting at him now. Just as frantic, his father is beckoning him closer, as he did when Kurapika was a child. 

His mother is pulling him back now, turning him around to face her. She smoothes down his hair, hands cupping his face, and if she is speaking, he cannot understand. Before they took her eyes, someone split her tongue. It wouldn’t have helped. She would never have gone quietly.

When he reaches for her hands again, she pulls them away, no matter how tightly he tries to hold on. Like Pairo, she points to the door as the walls begin to close in around him.

Unreasonable, he thinks. Impossible. Her fingertips nearly slip away from his as he turns to survey the rest of the room, and he grabs after them, knows he cannot keep hold of them. It was never a choice of who to save.

Leorio was right, it was unfair from the beginning. He releases his mother and goes to the door, and the footsteps come around to meet him. The walls press closer, as do the bodies. Their hands claw at him. They are pulling him back. They are holding him down, and they are not kind.

He cannot break free, though he tries. His knives, he has his knives, he has his gun in his holster but where-- He took them off. He took them off this time.

He thrashes, air tight, walls tight, everything too close, no weapons, where is his pack, his swords are there, he is suffocating--

“Kurapika!”

Something is touching his wrist. When he grabs after it, it pulls away. A hand, or something shaped like it. He is awake now, breathing hard, right hand raised with the familiar chime of metal as someone says, “Kurapika, _stop.”_

“Don’t come near me,” he warns between gasps, stomach churning, trying to steady his breathing, mouth filling with saliva. No undershirt, no binder; his clothes are too loose and ride strangely against his skin, and it is too much. He swallows hard, left hand clenching, right open and ready.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Does it matter?” he snaps back, but the voice is familiar, even sleep-rough and staggered with alarm. He frowns, pulse still unnaturally loud in his ears, and Leorio sighs on the far side of the bed, across from him, shoulders slumping.

“That sounds about right, yeah.”

Kurapika lowers his hand, chains vanishing. He would sigh as well, but is still just gasping, then swallowing again as his mouth continues to water. He trembles, then pats the bedsheets, trying to find the edge, and says, “Excuse me.”

A light flicks on, and he flinches, then swallows hard again. Somewhere near the light, Leorio says, “What do you need?”

“Bathroom.”

The floor is unsteady beneath him, but he focuses only on where to place his feet; so long as they settle level, he can find his way. Someone is coming up behind him, and it’s Leorio, only Leorio who brushes against him and says, “Here. Hang onto me.”

He walks faster. Or tries to, but it only makes the room shift stranger around him, and Leorio takes his elbow when he staggers, then puts an arm around his waist. If he flinches, he will fall, so he doesn’t. He staggers a step before Leorio steadies him, then takes another forward though the rom is beginning to swim around him.

“Don’t throw up on me,” Leorio mutters, either in earnest or a misguided attempt to lighten the mood.

He cannot even retaliate, is forced to swallow down bile again when he tries.

“Well, that didn’t sound great,” Leorio says.

Kurapika shuts his eyes, stumbling as he tries to slow his breathing. If he does throw up on Leorio, that would serve him right. Turning his head seems like too much effort, though. More likely he would throw up on himself, which he would prefer not to do. If there is any small mercy he can be allotted tonight, he’d like it to be that.

“Hey,” Leorio says, voice still sleep-rough, but disconcertingly gentle. “I’ve got you. Just walk. I’ll get you there.”

It is most likely true. Leorio is reliable. The bathroom is not even that far away, attached to Leorio’s room so he doesn’t even have to open any doors, but it still feels impossibly distant. Best not to think of it. The more he thinks of other things, the more he can feel the bile rise, threatening to spill.

But there is a hand on his back, another at his arm. It is a soft touch. Steady. Just Leorio. Not there to knife him or pry at him or even ask anything of him. He doesn’t have to think, he only has to walk. In this one instance, he can allow himself to be led.

\---

Kurapika folds when they make it to the bathroom, so suddenly Leorio worries for a moment that he’s fainted. He manages to catch hold of him, one arm slung around his back, beneath his shoulders, then lowers him slowly to the floor, flicking on the lights.

The moment Kurapika’s knees touch tile though, he’s moving, lunging the short distance to the toilet and shuddering as he pulls the seat down and hunches over it, starts to retch. Leorio kneels beside him, tries to hold his hair back, but Kurapika swats him away, then braces his elbows on the toilet seat.

His shoulders heave, then still, like he’s trying to hold his breath. Once, twice. Pause. Then again, faster this time. Won’t be long. Maybe three more seconds, two, one...

There it goes. He’s going to be a real pain about even getting more liquids into him at this time of night. Maybe watered-down juice once his stomach settles. Some crackers later, if he can’t go back to sleep.

He’s coughing now, bringing up some last bits of brown sludge. Looks like it’s almost all digested. Smells awful. Probably tastes worse.

Kurapika hacks something up and spits, then spits again, grimacing as he levers himself upright, eyes watering. Could be nausea, could be something else. Leorio’d put his money on something else, but doesn’t mention it. Instead he gestures Kurapika back and flushes the toilet, then settles back on the floor, arms over knees, hands folding together. Kurapika immediately hunches over again.

“How you feeling?”

Kurapika stays where he is, forearms braced on the toilet seat, head unwaveringly level, hands clenched into fists. Then he shakes his head, very carefully, but still breaks into a fit of coughing. It’s nasty and wet, and he spits, then just sits, breathing harsh and low, hands flattening against the seat.

After a while, he says, “I didn't ask for this,” voice breaking.

“I know,” Leorio says, smoothing his hair back, tucking it behind his ears. “I know. You didn’t deserve this.”

Kurapika’s hanging onto the toilet seat like a lifeline, eyes wide and red all through, brimming with tears. Then he shuts them and makes a horrible sound, somewhere between a groan and a scream and trying hard not to do either of those things at all, before gagging and leaning forward to spit up a little more bile. He stays hunched over this time, shoulders shaking.

Leorio brushes his hair back again, then settles a hand on his back, gently rubs up and down. All the rest of him is shaking too, chest heaving, elbows tucked in tight, knees jarring against the toilet bowl.

He's so small.

“I’m here,” Leorio says, hand flat on Kurapika’s back as he begins to pant, desperate and harsh. He’s either trying to breathe or trying not to cry, and not having a lot of luck with either.

Kurapika shudders, then jerks his shoulder. Leorio takes his hand away.

“You want me to leave you alone?”

Kurapika inhales sharply, fast and strained, then settles both hands together on the toilet seat and his head on top of those. “If you must.” His voice is tight, going high like it does when he’s under pressure, and Leorio stays where he is.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he says, and Kurapika makes a sound like he’s trying to keep from laughing, then leans forward and throws up again.

Leorio looks away towards the door and rubs his eyes. Eventually Kurapika stops dry-heaving, settles heavily back on the floor.

“So, uh,” Leorio says conversationally, like this is normal. Which he guesses it is. For a really fucked-up definition of normal. “I don’t know if you know this. You might, you’re pretty smart. But this is probably a stress response. Something freaks you out, your brain panics, your gut doesn’t know what’s going on and assumes it’s something you ate, and uh. This happens.”

Kurapika just makes a half-hum half-groan that could be interest, disinterest, extreme aversion, or just him about to be sick again.

“It’s not important. Just thought you’d want to know. Since you like knowing things. It’s a normal reaction.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Kurapika says, wheezing. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Okay. I’m here, though. I’m here for you.”

Kurapika just clenches his fists, and makes a little hiccuping sob. Then he inhales raggedly and starts to retch again, knuckles showing stark through his skin.

Oh this is gonna be bad. Not like it wasn’t already, but like. Real bad. This shit only ever happens when he’s actually sleeping. Probably it’s the only time it can get to him. Maybe the worst will pass soon. Or at least maybe his stomach will settle. He hasn’t even got anything left to throw up.

It’s like he’s about to turn himself inside out. Not really possible, but there’s a horrible moment where it seems like it could be. Then a moment where he sounds like he’s choking. Then he just goes quiet, and says softly, “I didn’t want any of this.”

“Of course not,” Leorio says, still leaned back against the cabinets. Then he sits up to glance over at Kurapika, adds, “No one would. You did your best.”

Kurapika just shakes his head in a tight, tiny motion, swallows hard. “I didn’t,” he says, voice ragged. Then he coughs wetly, tries to clear his throat.

“You did. Of course you did.”

He gags and leans over the toilet again, still panting.

“Spit if you have to,” Leorio advises. “Sometimes swallowing just makes you want to hurl again.”

His mouth works, and he spits.

His bangs must be in his eyes. Leorio brushes them back. It doesn’t do much of anything, but Kurapika shuts his eyes and lets him. “I’m here.”

“Go,” Kurapika says hoarsely. “Go back to bed.”

He’s still shaking. “Nah.”

“Please.”

“No.”

_“Please.”_

“I’m not leaving you alone like this!” Leorio snaps, then rubs his eyes. Fuck, it’s late. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to-- My bad.”

Kurapika just cuts him a sideways glance. “Stubborn,” he mutters, then returns to glaring into the toilet bowl. _“Pigheaded.”_

“Quit trying to pick a fight.”

“You make it so easy,” Kurapika says, but his heart clearly isn’t in it.

“If you’re going to be mean, just be quiet,” Leorio says, and tucks some of Kurapika’s hair back behind his ear again, so maybe it’ll stop falling into his face.

Kurapika brushes him away, rubs his ear like it itches. Then he settles both elbows on the toilet seat and puts his hands over his face.

Leorio stays where he is this time. “I wish there was something I could do for you.”

This of all things makes Kurapika flinch, shoulders going up as he rubs his hands over his face, then slides back along the bathroom floor.

“You’ve done enough,” he says, quiet and hoarse. He cranes his gaze up to the counter, then slowly reaches up to get a hold on the edge.

“Hey, come on,” Leorio says, leaning forward, hands out and open. “Let me give you a hand. You’re gonna fall and hurt yourself.”

“I won’t,” Kurapika says, pulling himself up in an unsteady rush and turning on the faucet, bracing himself with one hand as he cups his other under the stream of cold water. When he leans down to rinse his mouth, he retches again, raises his head sharply.

“For cryin’ out loud,” Leorio mutters, then lowers the toilet lid and flushes. “Here, sit.”

“I’m fine,” he says, shaking where he stands, both hands braced by the sink, eyes still watering. Typical.

Leorio watches him for a moment, then sighs heavily. He gets up and settles his hands on Kurapika’s shoulders to gently steer him towards the seat. Kurapika tries to shrug him off, but isn't steady enough to manage it. When the backs of his knees hit the edge of the toilet, he folds again, sitting hard then immediately propping his head in his hands.

Leorio slides the wastebasket between his feet, sets a hand on his shoulder. “Wait here for just a minute, will you?”

Kurapika inhales, shuddering, then nods once. Leorio turns off the faucet and heads to the kitchen, starts rummaging around in the cabinets.

Most of what he has is glass, but there was some handout from the university, something tacky and plastic. He finds it buried in a drawer, gives it a rinse before filling it with water, a little cooler than room temperature. He leaves it on the counter while he goes to get a hand towel from the linen closet, damps it down with cold water too, really cold this time. It’ll lose some of the chill between the kitchen and the bathroom, which’ll make it just about right for Kurapika. He leaves the kitchen light on and heads back in.

In the bathroom, Kurapika’s hunched into himself, arms across his stomach, forehead nearly to his knees. He should’ve been winding down but it looks like something’s got him worked up again. Leorio sets the water down by the sink and kneels, taking a quick glance into the wastebasket. Just some saliva.

“I brought water,” he says, quiet and steady. His head is throbbing, eyes sandy, joints heavy. It’s past time to sleep, but no one could leave Kurapika like this. “And a cold towel for your face. You okay? Any pain?”

Kurapika just stays where he is, back heaving. He’s crying, he’s definitely crying. Something’s got him real bad.

“Can you sit up for me?” 

He does, slowly, hands still clutching his elbows, head hanging. He gets partway up, then stops, shoulders rising nearly level with the counter when he inhales. Good enough.

“If you have any stomach pain, you should tell me right away. We’d need the hospital for that.”

“No.”

“No… hospital?” Leorio guesses. “No pain?”

“No hospital,” Kurapika says hoarsely, and one of his hands balls into a fist, pressing hard against his side. Leorio remembers a scar there, not very old. Weird ridging, like it had been half-healed, then opened again.

“Okay. But nothing weird, right? No sharp pain?”

“No.”

“Then we can just take care of that here, can’t we?” His voice and hands are steady, which is great, because his knees and stomach aren’t. There’s a weird buzz all along his spine, and he just wants to bring Kurapika back to bed, but he won’t go like this. He won’t sleep like this.

“Never let them see you worried,” Cheadle had said to him once, after they’d closed the clinic for the night. She’d been slumped at the makeshift table, head in one hand, checking over inventory numbers. “You’re the doctor. You’re not supposed to be worried.”

Her voice had lowered, gaze sliding down to the inventory sheet again. “If you can’t fix this, then who can?”

Good question. He looks down at Kurapika again. Nothing to fix here. Or nothing he can fix here, even if he wants to. Kurapika’s face is still blotchy, damp with sweat and tears. At least he can take care of that.

“Here, lift your head,” he says, lifting his free hand slowly to settle the fingertips just beneath Kurapika’s chin. Kurapika twitches away from him, arms pulling closer to his body, and Leorio says quietly, raising his hand without touching, “Just a little. Just a little. There we are.”

He uses both hands to fold the damp towel into something more manageable, then shows it to Kurapika. “For your face. That okay?”

“Okay,” Kurapika says, hushed and small. He’s breathing in a pattern again. In-hold-out-rest, over and over and over.

“I’m gonna put a hand on your shoulder. Okay?”

Kurapika just nods this time, then holds his breath.

When he settles his hand on Kurapika’s left shoulder, Kurapika sighs, a giant unsteady _whoosh_ of air like he’s been bracing himself for it his whole life, is surprised to find it somehow doesn’t hurt. Kids do it sometimes, for fingerpricks every once in a while, or the stethoscope after they’ve been warned it’s cold.

“Close your eyes,” Leorio says quietly, and for once, Kurapika does as he’s told. He doesn’t even protest, just sits breathing unevenly through his mouth as Leorio gently dabs the towel against his reddened eyelids. 

He lets it rest there a moment, then presses it along Kurapika’s forehead, beneath his bangs. He wipes it along the rest of his face, clearing off tears and snot, a little bit of puke where it spattered. He examines the edges of Kurapika’s hair, clears a little off there too. Good thing it’s still pretty short.

“Okay,” he says, then straightens. “We’re good.”

He moves over and drops the towel in the sink, runs cold water over it and loosely wrings it out with one hand as he hands Kurapika the cup with the other. “Now rinse your mouth.”

Kurapika holds the cup in both hands, still breathing hard, eyes half-lidded. His hands are shaking, and he doesn’t even bother trying to lift it. 

“Take your time,” Leorio says, giving the towel a more thorough rinse. He’s looking for the best place to hang it when Kurapika carefully settles the cup back on the counter, half-standing to lean and spit. After a moment, Kurapika runs the faucet, splashes some stray debris down the drain, then takes another mouthful to rinse and spit.

He does a full-body shiver, like he’s freezing, then sits heavily again. Leorio drapes the towel over the shower curtain, then moves forward to lean against the counter beside him. “Better?”

Kurapika is looking back at him, irises not quite brown again, but not red either, flickering murkily somewhere in-between. He looks a little like he’s been hit on the head, but Leorio’s sure he kept him away from hard surfaces when he went down. He’s just tired, is all. Just dazed. Leorio considers checking for a lump to be sure, but he’s pretty sure, and Kurapika would probably bite him if he tried.

“Why are you doing this?” Kurapika demands.

Leorio looks at him, cuts him some slack because no one asks good questions after throwing up in the middle of the night. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re my friend.”

Kurapika only eyes him a while longer, mouth twitching. Then he scoffs and looks away, raising a hand to scrub at his eyes, then his nose as he sniffs. When Leorio hands him a wad of toilet paper, he takes it absently, then blows his nose. The entire mass is sodden and useless after one blow and wipe. Kurapika drops it in the trash, then wipes his face on his sleeve.

Leorio sighs, straightening and heading for the door again. “Hey, I’ll get you some tissues, all right?”

He doesn’t even get two steps when there’s a pull at his hip, one of Kurapika’s hands twisted into his pajama top when he looks down.

“Wait,” Kurapika says, mouth hardly moving, head low, shoulders hunched. He’s starting to shake again, curling in on himself, other hand clenched tight in his lap. “Please.”

Leorio turns back immediately. Toilet paper is fine. There’s a towel. They can get more water from the sink. Small things, all manageable. “Okay,” he says, smooths down Kurapika’s hair, slides his hands beneath Kurapika’s shoulders. “Okay. C’mere.”

Kurapika stiffens, head coming up as he scrabbles to his feet. That’s fine, he was startled. Leorio doesn’t flinch, just keeps him steady, says quietly, “C’mon up here,” as he draws Kurapika close.

Once he’s up, Kurapika sags against him, no complaint, no fuss. Whatever got him just laid him out, and he immediately starts crying again, soft and miserable, limp like he’s got no more fight left in him. Which is ridiculous. Kurapika’s always got something he can pick at.

“Hey,” Leorio says, voice low. “Sit down with me for a while, okay?”

Kurapika doesn’t say anything, just stays where he is, head dropped loose and exhausted against Leorio. Then he nods once, sluggish, slowly brings his hands up to curl loosely over Leorio’s shoulders. That does make it a little easier. Leorio takes a few steps back to lean against the wall, then carefully settles them both on the floor.

“This okay?” 

“I don’t know,” Kurapika says dully, mouth mushing the words like it’s been numbed.

Leorio resettles him, cups one hand around the back of his head. “That’s fine,” he says. “It’s all right not to know.”

“Leorio. You should go to sleep.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Leorio says quietly. He doesn’t need anyone’s worry. This is nothing. He can stay up late. He’s stayed up later anyway, on the nights before national testing, just to get a few more answers right. It’s nice to be able to stay up late, without having to wheedle change for electric bills, lamp oil, candle stubs, anything to cram a little longer once the sun went down. 

He doesn’t have to do that anymore. He can stay up as late as he needs now, and it’s nothing much, really. Not for someone who’s hurting like this. Not if it’s Kurapika.

“I’m not going anywhere.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this chapter aside from overall work tags

“It was embarrassing,” Kurapika says, folded up against the wall on the guest bed, phone tucked against his ear. Leorio is out on an errand, but he has the study door shut and locked anyway, curtains open to let in the afternoon sun.

“Was it really?” Melody says, tone just a touch too sympathetic.

“Three hours later, I threw up again on the floor, and he had to clean up my mess. I told him to leave it, but he didn’t.”

“You’d do the same, wouldn’t you?” she says, sincere this time.

“Would I?” he says doubtfully.

Melody chuckles at him, breathy and dry, then says, “You keep on pretending.”

He rolls closer to the wall, frowning. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Indeed not.”

“This is insubordination.”

“I don’t work for you anymore, remember?”

“I suppose not,” he says, still frowning.

“Are you sulking now?”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Hm,” she says, then changes the subject. “And how are you otherwise?”

“Okay,” he says, doesn’t mean it. “Tired. You?”

“Just fine, thank you.”

“Have you made any progress?”

“As far as I can tell,” she says, unusually reticent. He waits, but she doesn’t elaborate, is clearly waiting for something else from him. Self-realization, perhaps.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“So that’s a ‘yes.’”

“Isn’t it frustrating?” she says, teasing. 

He sighs. They both know she’s trapped him. He says, “I’m just curious about your progress,” and she lets it lie.

“I’m getting closer,” she admits, voice soft now, almost dreaming. “Little motifs of it are everywhere in this place. In the wind, in the rain, the way the light falls in the morning and the night.” She takes a little breath, lets it out slow. Then she says, “Sometimes I think I’m going mad.”

He nearly sits up, but it wouldn’t do any good. Instead he stays where he is and says, “Do you have backup?”

“Do you think I need it?”

“I think you should have it regardless.”

She hums a little note, ambivalent and short. “What about you?”

“I don’t need backup,” he says. “I’ve finished. I’m done.”

She is quiet. Just before he can ask about the connection, she says, “I wish I were there.”

He shakes his head before remembering she can’t see him, then sits up. “You have a good lead,” he says, pushing his hair out of his eyes, sitting cross-legged so he can rest an elbow on one knee. “It wouldn’t make sense for you to come back.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she says gently.

“I am.”

Uncharacteristically, she lets it go. Or at least seems she will for a moment, before she says, “Your friends care about you, Kurapika.”

It is true. Unexpectedly, he has good friends. “I am aware.”

“Then you should let them,” she says.

He rolls his eyes. “They can feel how they like.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Say what you mean, then,” he says, and it is a mistake. Melody has never let him get away with being rude. Regrettably, she’s smart enough to do it, too.

“Maybe when you’re ready to hear it,” she says softly, and he manages not to wince. The safest option is to pretend he didn’t hear her at all.

He gives it a moment, then says carefully, “How close do you think you are?”

“Close enough,” she says, and he keeps himself from sighing. She is teasing him again.

Frustrated, he says, “I should be there to help you.”

“I don’t think you can help me now,” she says. A pause, then she adds slowly, “I’m not sure anyone can.”

That may be true. Not much he can say to that, or at least nothing she could say that wouldn’t end with her outright calling him a hypocrite. After a while, he sighs, and she chuckles, strained and low, then says, “What about you? Anything new?”

“I beat Tetris,” he offers.

Her amusement is gentle but clear when she says, “You can’t beat Tetris.”

“I did. I have the highest score.”

“But you can’t _beat_ it. It just keeps going.”

“Oh.”

“I only played a little when I was young. Do you like it?”

“It’s fine,” he says, switching hands and leaning over, phone pressing against his cheek.

“I’m sure there are newer games you could get if you wanted.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, then laughs. “Don’t grumble. There are all sorts. I’m sure you could find something you like.”

“I like Tetris.”

“Then keep playing Tetris.”

“If I must,” he says, and she laughs at him again.

“I’ll see if there’s something new you might like.”

“You don’t have to.”

“When I have time,” she says. “When I’m back. I hear you don’t like shopping anymore.”

Leorio has been gossiping, it seems. “I had my fill at Nostrade.”

“You’ll simply have to indulge me, then,” she says, feigning a specific brand of prim self-centeredness, and he misses her.

“Of course.”

She laughs at that, and lets him change the subject.

“Have you come across anything new?”

She pauses for a moment, then says, “New plants? New animals? New Nen techniques?”

“Anything.”

“Some of each, I think, but mostly plants. It’s very lush here, but it’s hard to tell what is and isn’t dangerous at first glance. To be perfectly honest, I’m a bit afraid to try.”

“Caution is good.”

“There may be a time when I’m too cautious, and miss an opportunity,” she says, a slight edge in her voice. Then she sighs. “I am sorry. I just-- Too much could go wrong now.”

“As a Hunter, you should be able to create opportunity,” he says, eyes closed. “I’m sure you can do it.”

“Thank you.”

After a while, he says, trying for levity, “Is this what it was like talking to me sometimes?”

She laughs quietly and says, “You were much worse.”

He laughs as well, once, sharp and dry. “I deserved that.”

“Don’t worry, you’re doing much better now.”

He winces, then says slowly, “Well, I… I’ve finished, after all. That’s to be expected.”

She is quiet again. Perhaps they are running out of things to say to each other. Then she says, carefully, “Are you happy?”

He’s silent for a while, but she doesn’t repeat herself or hang up. Finally, he says, “As much as I’ll ever be.”

“Is that what you think?”

He shrugs, shuts his eyes.

“I still can’t hear if you shrug over the phone, you know.”

“That’s fine.”

“You think I’m prying, don’t you.”

“I think you shouldn’t bother to ask if you know the answer.”

“Kurapika,” she says, then stops. Sighs.

He waits.

“The things you’ve done aren’t the person you have to be.”

He knows that. Of course he knows that. Annoyed, he opens his mouth to say so, but what comes out instead, pitiful and small, is, “I've done so much.”

His throat is closing. Consequently, his breath is growing shallow. It becomes intolerable slowly, like a weight settling along his back and chest.

“Kurapika? Are you all right? Please stay on the line with me.”

He hangs up and lies down. It will become difficult for him to speak shortly. He doesn’t want to speak anyway. This isn’t something that needs to be shared with anyone.

It’s hard to say when the front door slams open, then shut again, Leorio not even bothering to take off his shoes. They clatter on the tile between kitchen and living room, then something thuds into the door and Leorio starts to knock, breathing hard.

“Hey. Hey! Kurapika, are you in there?”

He doesn’t answer. If he answers, Leorio will ask him another question, and he’ll have to give another answer, and so on and so forth until he most likely has to get up and open the door. He pulls the blanket higher over himself, and shuts his eyes.

The knocking gets louder, then the doorknob rattles. “Kurapika?”

When he doesn’t answer, Leorio knocks again, loudly, twice, then hisses to himself and storms away, muttering under his breath. He returns shortly, still swearing, then quiets as something begins clicking and scratching at the doorknob. It takes very little time until the soft _tick_ of the door unlocking. The handle turns, but the door stays shut.

“Kurapika, I’m opening the door.”

There is only stillness for another five seconds, then Leorio barges in, panting. A stress reaction, even if he has no reason to be concerned. Everything is fine. Kurapika curls closer to the wall, and Leorio heaves a sigh, then slowly approaches.

He stands by the cot in silence for a while, at least until his breathing evens out, then says, “Rough day, huh?”

Kurapika doesn’t bother to answer. His eyes hurt, his nose hurts, his head feels swollen. Leorio settles behind him, sitting nearly against his back.

“Your voicemail is full again, so Melody left one with me. Don’t worry, I didn’t listen to it.”

He waits again, but Kurapika declines to answer this as well. Usually, this is when Leorio would settle a hand on his shoulder, along his arm, at the back of his head. There is a slight rustle, as though Leorio had started the motion then thought better of it. Then the bed dips with a slight shift of his weight, and he does something on his phone and sighs.

It goes to speaker, and the voice announces, “One--new message.”

“Well, this is for you,” Leorio says and reaches over to place his phone on the bed, in front of Kurapika’s face.

After a slight pause, Melody’s voice comes on over the speaker, tinny and strange from the recording, but her tension is still evident when she says, “Leorio, this is just for Kurapika.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Leorio says, already getting up. He walks away, makes sure the door is unlocked before he shuts it behind him. There are several more seconds of grainy silence before she begins speaking again.

“Kurapika, it’s me. I know this is hard for you, but I want you to know that you have people who care about you. We’d like to help, in any way we can. Just let us know-- Oh,” she says, cutting herself off, then makes a soft frustrated noise. “I don’t mean it like that, exactly. You don’t have to know what you need right now.”

She is silent again, was probably frowning to herself, wrinkles seaming her forehead and the sides of her mouth. Then she sighs.

“I only mean to say… your friends love you very much, and want to help you in any way they can. And… I consider you a friend. Please call me back.”

Then it is over. The auto-attendant presents him with the voicemail options, but he would have to move to delete it. He will let the settings on Leorio’s phone determine what to do with it. He doesn’t want to hear it again.

“Old messages,” the phone announces, and he stirs, glances wearily at the phone. “Message one.”

“Leorio,” says Cheadle’s voice, and then she sighs. After a few moments, she takes another breath, then continues.

“I’ve been contacted by your supervisor and a few of your professors. They’re concerned about your recent performance, and frankly, I am as well. I understand that you’re worried about your friend. I’m concerned about him too, but as your advisor, I have to prioritize _you.”_ ‘Since evidently you won’t,’ she does not say, but it is clear enough.

“I know you didn’t like the idea before, but I think it’s time to bring it up again. I know you can handle this course load. I don’t think it’s your priority right now, and Leorio, it has to be.

“Maybe consider taking the semester off.” She hesitates, then says firmly, “Call me back.”

There is silence, then, “Next message.”

Kurapika ends the call, then turns the phone over before burying his head beneath his arms. He’s heard enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, next update will be in 2 weeks! Between the holidays and the next chapter being the last, I want to take a little extra time and really make sure I stick the landing.
> 
> Thank you as always for the views, kudos, and comments (that I promise I see, and will probably be more responsive to once this is over!), and especially for sticking it out with me on this journey of incredible self-indulgence. I'm so happy to have been able to share this with y'all <3
> 
> See you on 12/28!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Very strong emphasis on the mental health issues overall warning.
> 
> Secondary warnings for emotionally fraught tryhards.

He doesn’t pack that day. Or the next. Or even the next. It takes until next weekend for him to finally straighten in his seat at the kitchen counter and say, “I should go.”

Leorio glances over from where he’s putting away the dry dishes. “Sure. Where to? How long?”

“No, I-- It’s just time for me to leave.”

Leorio scoffs as he puts the last cup away, then shuts the cabinet. “What, so you can pull one of your disappearing acts again? Would you at least call?”

“I’ll call.”

Leorio mutters, “Somehow I doubt that.”

“What does it matter?” Kurapika says, exasperated. “I could be gone tomorrow, and it would be fine.”

“It wouldn’t,” Leorio says, sharp and immediate, turning to face him.

“It would,” he insists. “How could it matter?”

“It would matter to me,” Leorio says, suddenly reticent. He looks into the sink, as though to find something he missed.

Kurapika frowns at him. “Why?”

Leorio gives up the search to scowl at him across the kitchen island. Then he opens his mouth, shuts it again, and rubs his forehead. “You're smarter than this, Kurapika.”

This is true. After a moment, Kurapika settles back in his seat. Another moment, and he says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Not worth an answer. He only shakes his head and says, “You’ve done so much. I wish I had some way to repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I would like to.”

“You’ll figure it out. You’ve got time.”

“Not really.”

Leorio snorts softly. “Don’t be dramatic. Why wouldn’t you?”

He takes a breath, doesn’t know what he’ll say. He had thought that later, he might like to tell Gon, or Killua, or possibly Leorio the true conditions for his abilities. It hadn’t been relevant at the time, and may never have been, so he had put off deciding. He glances towards the windows, just to have somewhere else to turn.

When he looks back, Leorio is watching him, eyes narrowed. “What’re you hiding?”

The decision settles on him: it’s only fair to tell Leorio now. It’s the sensible thing to do. It will make things easier. Kurapika takes another breath, then says, “The condition--”

“What condition?” Leorio says, coming around the counter. He stoops to examine Kurapika’s face, frowning. “Are you sick? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The condition,” he says again, leaning back, then rubs his hands over his face. He didn’t expect the telling itself to be so difficult. “For Emperor Time.”

“Right,” Leorio says slowly as he straightens, leans on the countertop. “You’re a Specialist when your eyes go red. It makes you sick, but you have complete proficiency in all Nen types. I know.”

“No. For every second, I trade an hour.”

Leorio goes very still. “Repeat that.”

“For every second I use Emperor Time, I trade an hour. Of my life.”

Leorio is looking somewhere past him, eyes wide, gaze not quite steady. He is doing the calculations already, that much is obvious, factoring it all in. All the times he knows. All the times he does not. “Is this new?” he demands, stare fixing on Kurapika again, looking for an answer he won’t find. “This happened on the Dark Continent, right?”

It’s a good show, but Leorio’s always been much cleverer than he seems. It’s only that the first stage is denial, Kurapika read once. He didn’t finish the book.

With a slow and certain finality, Leorio says, “This entire time.”

Kurapika watches him, says nothing.

“Since Yorknew. You’ve been killing yourself for _three years,_ and you didn’t say _anything?!”_

“Leorio,” he says quietly, reaches to put a hand on his arm.

Leorio recoils. _“Get away from me!”_

He drops his hand and slides from his chair, but Leorio is already stalking to his bedroom, every gesture tight with anger. Kurapika hesitates, then follows after.

Leorio is hardly halfway to his bedroom when he stops and wheels back to stare down at Kurapika and demand, _“What did you do to yourself?”_

He does not flinch, lifts his chin instead and says firmly, “I made a decision.”

“Of course you made this decision! It’s a stupid fucking decision!”

He bristles, but Leorio is already plowing ahead, still furious. “How long?”

“Since _before_ Yorknew,” Kurapika snaps back at him. “It was a _necessary_ decision!”

“Wrong both times, jackass! How much longer? How long do you have?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and it is the truth. The whole truth. It is the very least of what Leorio is owed, and it can be paid, and they can be done with each other. “It could be weeks. It could be years. It could be days.”

Leorio goes ashen at the last, nearly unsteady, but then his shoulders firm and he says, color rising in his cheeks again, “So you’ve just been-- what is this you’ve been doing? You finished everything, and now you’re what, just hanging around? _When were you going to say something?”_

“What should I have said!”

“I don’t know, something like ‘Hey Leorio, I made a _stupid fucking decision and could drop dead any second,_ try not to be worried’ would have been a start!”

“You would be worried regardless!”

_“That’s_ your reason?!” Leorio shouts at him, well and truly furious now. As he should be. “That’s your fucking reason! _Are you shitting me right now,_ you _knew_ I’d be worried and _that’s why you kept it a secret?”_

“It was none of your concern!”

_“‘None of my concern’? Bullshit!_ Do you have _any_ idea--” He stops himself, visibly drawing himself up as though he’s taking back all his words. Then he says, as though they are choking him, “You know what? Forget this,” and stalks away to his room.

“Leorio,” Kurapika says. Then again, louder, when he does not turn. “Leorio!”

It has no effect. He trails after, not certain what else to try. He follows Leorio to the doorway with too many words caught up in his mouth, some of them true, some of them not. ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘Forgive me.’ ‘I meant to tell you sooner.’ ‘I didn’t want you to know.’

“Leorio,” he says again, nearly at the threshold, and Leorio wheels, one hand on the doorframe, other on the door, and hisses, _“Get out.”_

Not a shout, but it should have been. He stops, stunned, and the door slams shut as Leorio retreats. When did Leorio learn this restraint? It’s not like him at all. Maybe he has become a stranger. Maybe he always has been.

Most likely it’s for the best.

Kurapika turns. He leaves.

It’s only ten minutes later that Leorio emerges. He spends some time in the kitchen first, from the sound of opening cabinets, water running, and other shuffling of small items on the countertop, but eventually he comes to the door of his study, left ajar. Kurapika has nearly finished packing, clothes rolled and carefully stowed away, charger and spare batteries settled in one corner, three books evenly distributed to balance out his bag. He has all that he came with, and what little he has accumulated.

Leorio stops in the middle of easing the door open. “What are you doing?”

Kurapika gives the bag a shake to settle the contents, begins zipping it shut. He’d thought Leorio would take more time to cool down, but it seems he was wrong.

“Are you packing?” Leorio says, as though he cannot see for himself. “Are you leaving?”

“I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Leorio winces. “I didn’t… mean it like that. I really didn’t. I’m sorry. Stop packing. Don’t leave, just stay and let’s… talk or something.”

Kurapika looks at him, then zips his bag all the way shut. His toothbrush is in bathroom, just one last item, nearly forgotten. He can retrieve it later.

“Come on, Kurapika,” Leorio says, voice and expression drawn tight. “Don’t go. Can we just figure this out?”

Slowly, Kurapika says, “Then let’s talk about it in the morning.” His tongue and mouth feel clumsy and foreign. Fluent all these years and yet still hard to remember a time when the words felt natural.

“Yeah, sure,” Leorio says, leaning against the doorframe, looking worn. It would be easy to get up and walk to him, to stand before him, say nothing, and wait. Leorio would put his hands on him and say, ‘Stay,’ and mean it.

He gets up and walks to the door, looks up at Leorio. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“Fine,” Leorio says, and slowly detaches himself from the doorframe, still with some slouch in his posture, like he is carrying something a little heavier than he can bear. He takes a step back but doesn’t otherwise move, mouth set like he is not finished, is still thinking of something more to say. He may, despite himself, believe Kurapika will change his mind.

Kurapika shuts the door, then sits down on the bed to wait.

\---

In the morning, Kurapika is gone.

Leorio surveys the room again, arms crossed, jaw tight, and nothing changes. The sheets are neatly folded, cot smoothed out, all his things packed and gone, almost like he was never there.

Except for the books that have been moved from the shelves. Some clothes hangers Leorio left in the study for him, the adhesive hooks he put on the back of the door because Kurapika didn’t say anything, but there’s only so much living a guy can do out of a duffel bag. The grape juice in the fridge because Kurapika prefers it to apple and orange. The missing mug from when a horror movie surprised them late one night while surfing through the channels and Kurapika dropped it.

“Damn it,” he says, too tired for anything else. He should have known. He rubs his hands over his face, breathing deep and slow, then turns and heads for his room. His phone’s charged, he can juice up a spare battery on the flight over, he has cash and his license in his wallet, and he can grab a first-aid kit from corner store, easy. Fine. He can travel light. This shouldn’t take too long.

He throws all that shit in an overnight bag in a matter of minutes, then books it to the street. Fuck, he’s going to have to call and let the office know he’ll be gone for today. Maybe tomorrow too. Maybe a couple more days, he doesn’t know. However long it takes. None of them are going to be happy, but nothing else to do.

He dials as he shoulders through the revolving door, nearly gets caught getting out.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Dr. Gladwell’s office, can I just put you--”

Perfect, it’s Adeen. She’ll understand. Or at least probably won’t throw him under the bus. “Hey, no, just me, sorry. I gotta-- I can’t come in today. Or tomorrow.”

“Leorio? Well, what should I tell--”

“Family emergency,” he says, waving frantically at a taxi.

“Again? Leorio--”

“Can’t talk, have to go! Super sorry about this, I’ll explain later, coffee when I get back?”

“You’re buying,” she says, and hangs up.

Least he could do, really. He slides into the taxi and tries to bribe the driver double to get him to the nearest terminal as fast as possible. It doesn’t really work, not until he flashes his license and says, “The Association will cover it.”

The driver doesn’t even look up, just points to the card reader and waits. Leorio looks over his license dubiously, then just swipes it through.

Nothing really happens, not even an interesting beep, but then the driver says softly, “What the shit,” and squints at him in the rearview mirror. Then they shrug and gun it.

It’s definitely one of the worse car rides Leorio’s had. Not like, _the_ worst, but somewhere in the top ten for most nerve-wracking. He makes it to the airport in time to be four hours too early for the next flight out. 

Waiting is… awful. He almost doesn’t, almost grabs a personal one, but those things are risky and expensive. Long flights are fine with two people, but if he fucks up? If he falls asleep? If he has to land because of an equipment malfunction and wait? Better to do it safe than risky, he convinces himself over and over.

He circles the terminal for the first two hours because it’s impossible to sit still. Only one of the stores has an emergency pack, and it’s disgustingly overpriced. He pays. Someone else from the clinic calls him. He ignores it, keeps pacing. There’s no way he could possibly sit still like this.

Then he blows too much cash on vending machine snacks, because there’s nothing else to really buy, and he figures he’ll need it. His stomach’s all knotted up, but at some point he’ll need to eat something and by then he’ll be glad for weirdly chewy cookies, probably almost stale, and that shitty crunchy oat bar. It’s garbage. Who wants crunchy oatmeal? But it’s easy and has fiber and sugars and some other bullshit, so he may as well have a few. Is this how Kurapika’s been thinking for the past however long? Months? Years? Poor guy.

Leorio crams the snacks in his bag then rubs his hands over his face. When he finds Kurapika, he’s going to _strangle him._

He spends the last two hours alternating between sitting and pacing. Sometimes he can sit and sometimes he can’t, and that’s… normal. The most normal thing about this entire fucking situation.

The license gets him priority boarding, so he gets to sit and fidget anxiously with the old people and babies and everyone with too much money in first-class. The flight’ll take several hours. He should sleep. He can’t sleep.

He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and his seatmate gives him a funny look, then puts his headphones in.

“Yeah, same to you, buddy,” Leorio mutters under his breath. He scrubs his hands over his face, then goes searching through his bag. He’s almost definitely sure he has some of that drowsy antihistamine whatever; generic is as good as brand name. If he doesn’t find any, well, there’s the first aid kit.

Turns out there’s a little foil packet crammed in the corner of one of the bag’s front pockets. Nice. He pops it, tries not to fidget too much until everyone’s pretty much onboard, then gets up and heads to the dining room for a scotch. 

That pretty much solves it.

It gets him through most of the ride, though he wakes himself up once or twice with uneasy twitching, then again one last time about thirty minutes before they’re set to land, and he doesn’t bother going back to sleep after that. He’s first to the door before it even lands, shouldering past some flight attendant who tries to tell him to stay in his seat until the airship’s fully docked.

He flashes his license again, and the flight attendant looks at his boss, who looks at them both, then just shakes her head very slightly. They let him stay right by the door, and hustle him out like a rich person once the airship lands and the door hisses open, all polite wariness and retail smiles. Everything else aside, this is nice. He’s so ready to be used to this.

No bags to pick up, so that’s fine. He heads right for the exit, then skips the line and snags a taxi right out of the airport. The person who was supposed to be next tries to protest, knocking on the window, and Leorio yells, _“Suck on it!”_ at him, then swipes his license through the card reader and says, “Drive.”

The asshole starts to knock harder as the driver says, “You shouldn’t cut. And I’m gonna need the address--”

“Drive first, address later!” Leorio snaps at him, locking the door, and the guy just looks at his meter, an older model that’s going fucking haywire now, and says resignedly, “You’re the boss.”

It almost gets easier the closer he gets. As long as he keeps moving, it’ll be fine. Sucks he can’t just take the cab the whole way out, but there aren’t any roads or easy ways to get any kind of vehicle in there. Maybe a bike, but the last bike he was on didn’t have a motor and he’d crashed it into some trash cans in a narrow alley. Definitely not a viable option.

Once they get to a crossroad he recognizes, he leans up to get the driver’s attention and says, “Here! Stop here!” already pulling out his wallet and popping the lock.

He doesn’t even bother to count out the bills, just picks the one he thinks will work and tosses it in the front seat as he gets out, says, “Keep the change!” and immediately heads down the nearest street that looks familiar, pulling up a map on his phone. Honestly, though, once he gets to a certain point, the smell is enough to guide him.

He looks up once the gobbling gets loud, finds himself directly in front of an unfortunately familiar awning, with a gaggle of curious bird heads poking over a fence, and the same very unimpressed rental guy.

Ugh.

He digs in a pocket, then thrusts a wad of cash at the vendor, maybe double the actual rental fee. Enough to add urgency, not enough to give him any ideas. “Bird. Two days. Now.”

The vendor eyes him, then says cautiously, “You know, your friend was already here--”

“I don’t care!”

The bird-guy just holds up his hands in a ‘can’t blame me for trying’ gesture, then goes to get the paperwork. Slowly. Very slowly. Leorio points to the fence and says, “I need a fast one.”

“They’re all fast birds,” the vendor says cautiously, still doesn’t have the paperwork out and is going even slower, if possible, and Leorio pulls out a thin stack of bills and slaps it on the table. Bad bargaining, but he’s desperate and money talks more than words.

“I think you’re not hearing me. _I need. A fast one. The_ fast one, if possible. Fast and sturdy, I got a lot of ground to cover.”

The vendor looks at the first crumpled wad of cash, then at the second crisp little stack, then considers. Leorio leans in and says like it’s hush-hush, “I think I know what’s going on here. But lemme ask: Did you sign a contract?”

“No, but--”

“Was there any mention of a contract?” Kurapika’s usually pretty scrupulous, probably wouldn’t have used Nen on a civilian, unless he really though it would be an issue. Leorio frowns, squints. Gyo’s still kind of hard, but the guy looks clean.

The vendor gives him a funny look, his own fault for staring, then says, “No contract.”

“So what’s the big deal?” Leorio says. Kurapika can be plenty scary when he wants, but honestly, he doesn’t have his entire reputation to throw around here; to this guy, he’s just a cranky blonde with too much cash and an attitude problem.

Speaking of cash...

Leorio picks up the fresh stack and waves it gently in the air before running one thumb along the edge. “No contract?” he says calmly, then smiles. Not a grin, a real smile, confident and not too big as he applies just a little pull and just a little pressure, and the bills _fwip_ on down so the guy can see every one of them. “No problem. Am I right?”

The guy looks at him, then says, tone totally done, “You’re a Hunter too, aren’t you?”

Leorio keeps his smile stuck on his face, but the vendor doesn’t even wait for an answer, just reaches into a drawer, normal speed this time, then pulls out a contract and slides it in front of him with a pen, says wearily, “Sign here, please.”

Honestly, the contract could ask for his liver and he wouldn’t fucking know, because he just signs as the vendor gets up and goes to bird-wrangle or whatever. That takes like a second though, so he’s stuck fidgeting until the bird-guy comes back out, leading an already saddled chicken-thing. He hands the reins over, saying something about feeding or whatever, but Leorio’s staring down the chicken, ready to duck.

“Thanks,” Leorio says, still eyeing the bird-thing. He’d forgotten how big and weird and… chicken-y they were. Fuck, he has to get onto it now. “Back in a bit.”

The vendor just waves, looking totally over this entire situation. Leorio manages to scramble up top without too much fuss or getting bitten again, and the bird hops, gives him a look like it’s offended, but he gives the reins a little shake and points it out of town, and it goes.

It’s still a fucking terrible way to travel. The weather is overcast, kind of cold, and the wind from the bird running doesn’t help at all, and he didn’t bring a fucking jacket, because of course he didn’t bring a fucking jacket. It’s supposed to be warmer out here, so this is already bullshit.

All he’s doing is heading east, though. At least that’s what he remembers Kurapika doing, and it didn’t seem like he was too specific about where he was going. The trees all look the same, and the rocks are just rocks, and this is probably a really terrible idea. He doesn’t even have supplies, just a few bottles of water he snatched from the airship, airline pretzels, and the shitty vending machine snacks he got from the first terminal. And his med kit, buried under the snacks.

He doesn’t wanna think about it.

He keeps going, eyes and ears perked for any sign of water, or maybe a familiar-looking rock? There were some pretty big ones. Maybe that cliff? Anything. It’s east for a million years, he remembers that much, but did Kurapika veer up or down? Hard to tell in the forest. Maybe he’s overshooting. Maybe he’s heading too far up or too far down, and he’ll have to spend useless hours backtracking, and by the time he finds the village again, there’ll be nothing he can do. Maybe he just won’t be able to find the village at all. 

No way he can think like that now. There’s no point to it. That’s not who he is. It won’t help him. He has to focus.

He downloaded a compass app in the airport, opens it now. Still east. Okay. The bird has some food and should probably eat sometime. Maybe in a little. Maybe there’s even some other kind of running water nearby. Okay, okay. 

Three hours later, his timer chimes, and he manages to slide off, hangs onto the saddle while the ground sways. Then he shakes it off and wrangles the chicken’s foodsack off the back of the saddle. He circles around to the chicken’s front cautiously, and it gobbles at him, butts him with its head.

“Listen,” he says sternly, trying to keep the sack balanced. “That doesn’t get you fed faster.”

It just gobbles again, stays way too close while he pours what seems like a decent amount on the ground. Like a third? The guy might’ve said something about a third.

He gets the bird food packed up again while it eats, finds an oatbar in his own bag, crunches half of it down. Too bad there’s no water for the bird. He feels kinda bad, but once it’s done, he says, “We good?”

It cocks its head to stare at him with first one eye, then another, and he sighs, pats its neck. “You don’t understand. We’re good.”

He clambers back into the saddle, all of him one big annoyed ache, and they set off again. Maybe it was a little more north. He nudges the chicken towards the left, and keeps at it. Eventually they’ll have to hit the river, as long as they don’t fall into any sudden drops first.

On the next break, he looks dubiously at the surrounding trees, then ties his bird to a low branch and manages to scramble partway up one. It’s _way_ harder than Gon and Kurapika make it look. Who climbs trees, anyway? The bark hurts and they’re full of bugs, but he manages, clings to the trunk while he squints through the foliage to try and spot some water, or smell some water, or maybe even actually hear it. Melody would be really great here right about now. Or Gon. Even Killua. Anyone. 

He sighs and slithers down the tree again. “Here,” he says to the chicken, trying to see if it’ll drink out of a water bottle. Nope. No dice. It gets a little when he pours slowly, but mostly just gets its beak wet like a fucking moron, so he just pours it slowly on the beak and that seems to work mostly okay.

It shakes its head and splatters him, and he groans. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

It clucks at him, then scuffles until he gets on, and off they go again.

He’s nearly zoned out by the time something glints through the trees, and he frowns, points the bird towards it. There isn’t a sudden drop this time, but instead a gently rolling slope down to the riverbanks, and he whoops when he sees it, the bird bouncing a little and gurgling. Probably confused. That’s fine, its brain is probably the size of a pea. He lets it drink, then turns so it’s moving upstream. Not too far now. 

Thirty minutes in, he thinks he’s lost again. Shouldn’t have taken this long. He gets off the chicken, spends another fifteen minutes on foot, leading it through the shrubbery and around some possible disused and overgrown trails just in case he missed something, in case there’s some other sign.

Still nothing.

He glances up and around, squints at the sun through the trees, then checks the compass app on his phone. Village should be somewhere ahead of him, between the north and east arrows. He doesn’t know how far, but at least it’s in that direction. He sighs, then concentrates on his ‘aura’ or whatever and kicks one foot so his heel taps against the ground, unfocuses his eyes. He’d shut them, but he got scolded pretty bad the first few times he’d tried. Tactical disadvantage or something. Nevermind that he would see whatever’s coming with the technique anyway.

The village or even just Kurapika himself should show up if they’re in range, even just as a blip of weirdness. If he can’t find the structures of the houses, then flesh and bone has a different signature than say, dirt or rocks or trees. It’s just an ultrasound, that’s all. Just a weird… magic ultrasound… in his mind… of an entire section of forest. He should be used to it by now. Mostly he tries not to think too hard about it, focuses on sorting out the visuals instead.

Nothing. Maybe his range isn’t good enough yet? Maybe Kurapika’s just hiding somehow, though it really should pick him up. Either way, fuck.

He hauls himself back onto the bird again, and glances around. May as well just pick a direction. But then he’ll just get lost, and what was it Kurapika said before? Head west until he finds a road? Like that’ll actually work. That would probably also end with him getting lost, and it’d be awful to get lost out here. It’d be awful to be lost and not see Kurapika again and have that argument be the last things they ever said to each other and--

So he has to pick a direction, because it’d be worse to be lost and get back out and not know-- It’d be worse, he thinks. It’d be worse not to know.

But not by much.

He takes a deep breath, then drops his face into his hands. Can’t think about that now. As long as he can just keep calm, keep breathing, he can figure this out. He can find something, maybe he can get lucky again.

The bird makes a rumbling little squawk, then suddenly lifts its head, looking from side-to-side. Great. Just great. Is it acting up? Does it hear something he doesn’t? This is just what he needs right now.

“Hey!” he hisses at it, and it gobbles back at him, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other. “Whoa! No. Don’t-- Good birdie? Maybe calm down--”

It heads off into the forest at a steady clip.

“Hey,” he says, then, “Hey!”

The bird doesn’t care. It just trucks right on forward, gurgling as it goes, and when he yanks on the reins, it bounces impatiently and yanks right back. Fine. Fine! It can go running off the edge of a cliff for all he cares, he’s lost enough time already. All he really has to do is stay in the saddle, and maybe get ready to jump.

Then something caws in the distance. Or at least he thinks it’s a caw. It’s a bird noise, and his bird makes another loud bird noise in response, which actually might be a good sign. Like a really, really good sign. He stays in the saddle and hangs on tight.

They bust through some shrubs, and there the other bird is, loosely tethered to an almost familiar-looking tree. Or maybe it’s only familiar because it has a pack and saddle at its base with a bird hanging out nearby. It’s a tree. They mostly look the same.

He slithers off his bird, manages to land on both feet, though he swears the bird looks at him like it’s laughing before sauntering off to join its flockmate. They start making weird bird noises at each other, gravelly and low. Probably gossiping. Jerks. He should unsaddle it, then tie it somewhere so it doesn’t wander off and leave him stranded. Might as well tighten the knots for Kurapika’s too, while he’s at it.

The birds only try to peck him twice, and he manages to dodge both times.

“Hah!” he says, ducking a third attempt from his bird as he undoes a last strap. It flaps as he gingerly lifts the saddle and pulls it off, drops it beside the first. He nearly turns and leaves after that, but he doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone, and he didn’t do all the little fussy things that Kurapika said he should do the first time around, when they first traveled out here together.

He eyes the tethered bird, then carefully approaches it from the side, hands up as it turns to keep him in view.

“Nice bird,” he says, chest tight. He shouldn’t be wasting time on this.

He smooths out the feathers anyway, looks for any that got rumpled or bent out of place. Just a quick check, then a dusting from the grit bag in one of the saddle’s pouches. The bird clucks at him, giving itself a shake, then steps on his foot.

That’s about enough of that. He retreats. “You’re a good bird and I hate you.”

It ignores him in favor of nibbling at its buddy, and he grabs his bag and leaves them to it. Stupid birds. They have it easy.

He books it through the village, tries not to feel like he’s trespassing. Or being watched. It’s fine, probably. It’s for a good cause. Kurapika’s family would understand. Still creepy, though.

He passes right by Kurapika’s house without a second glance, takes the turn towards the end that leads to the gravesite. Sure, maybe Kurapika chose somewhere else to go, but maybe Killua would turn down chocolate for once in his life. Maybe Gon would look first before leaping.

Yeah right.

He slows down as he approaches the clearing, the rows and rows of jars lined up in the grass, all the overturned earth still bare, nothing growing. If Kurapika just dumped out the formalin once he was done digging, Leorio’s gonna have some _words._ He stays where he is for a minute, catching his breath, then looks down the treeline. Kurapika’s there.

He’s sitting again, in his usual spot from months ago, must have heard him approaching but hasn’t moved. Leorio goes to stand beside him, hands in his pockets. Neither of them speak.

Leorio sighs, makes no move to sit. He drops his bag, then glances down. “Hey, Kurapika. What’s going on?”

Kurapika doesn’t look up. “Why are you here.”

He snorts. “You disappear in the middle of the night and I’m supposed to not know where you ran off to? Please.”

“I asked why,” Kurapika says, low and brittle. “Not how.”

“How are you always so smug?” Leorio demands, circling around to kneel in front of Kurapika, frowning at him. “You scared me. You up and left without saying anything, and it scared me. So now I’m here.”

“I apologize for worrying you,” Kurapika says tonelessly. He lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I did not intend to make you worry.”

“Well, you did a lousy job of it,” Leorio says, chest still tight, though he’s more than recovered from the run. Hard to tell if he’s more angry or afraid at this point.

“My apologies,” Kurapika repeats. “It won’t happen again.”

“Liar.”

This finally gets him a glare from Kurapika, who stands abruptly and takes a step back, over the tree root he was sitting on.

“Don’t follow me,” he says, and heads further into the forest.

“Like I’d listen to you,” Leorio mutters, and trails after. Weather and scenery’s mostly the same since they were last here. It’s almost like they never left.

Leorio steps over a fallen branch, follows Kurapika down the rough path in front of them. The graves are no longer in sight. He thinks the village is somewhere behind them, but isn’t completely certain. Kurapika maintains a steady pace, not fast, not slow, but purposeful. Leorio could catch up, but he’s not sure what would happen.

“Hey,” he calls up instead. “Why’d you leave?”

Kurapika keeps walking, doesn’t look back. “I was tired of the city.”

“So you just... left. In the middle of the night.”

“I wanted to be here.”

Leorio glances around. Still basically the same as he remembers it. Trees, sunlight, lots of weird animal noises. “It is pretty scenic, I guess.”

Kurapika stops finally, then turns to face him. Leorio halts, holds his breath, but he just says evenly, “I think I’m going to stay.”

“Oh really?” Leorio says, straightening and putting his hands in his pockets. “All alone?”

“Once you leave.”

“Mmhm. And when do you think that’s going to be?”

“Soon,” Kurapika says, flat and final.

“We’ll see about that. How long are you staying?”

“A while.”

“Days? Weeks?”

“A while.”

Leorio shifts his weight, sizing Kurapika up, trying to figure out what else to say. He could be scared or he could be angry, and he’s not really sure which it’s going to be. He _was_ angry. Hard to tell if he still is, though. “And what’re you gonna eat during ‘a while’? Do you have supplies?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it all figured out already, haven’t you.” He sighs, then says, “Look Kurapika, I'm sure you think this is a great place for… for whatever you’re planning. But just--” He swallows hard, then says, “Not yet. Can you promise me that? Not yet.”

“You have no idea what I’m planning.”

How does someone this smart get to be this stupid? He bites back the question, and says instead, “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you.”

Kurapika just eyes him, then says quietly, “Why are you here?”

Easy answer. He’s had a lot of time to think it through the past few days. So he says honestly, “I’m here for you. For whatever you want to do.”

“I don’t want to do anything.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“What’s the point?” Kurapika says, like it’s the only reasonable response. “I’ve traded _decades_ of my life, Leorio. I don’t know how much more time I have.”

Leorio inhales slowly, looks at the foliage and sky overhead, then exhales. Yep, turns out he’s still angry. Yelling now will get him nowhere, though he’d like to give it a try. “Didn’t stop you before. Look what you’ve done already. Become a Hunter. Had your own, uh. Business. Joined the Zodiacs.”

“The Zodiacs was your doing.”

He shrugs. Mostly Cheadle, really, but still. “I mean, I wouldn’t have passed the exam without you or Gon, so call it even.”

“Not Killua?” Kurapika says, cocking his head very slightly, like this is a normal conversation just on a normal day, _like an asshole,_ and Leorio grins back at him and says, “Killua… was moral support.”

This startles a laugh out of him. _“Killua?”_

“Yeah, well,” Leorio says, lifts his elbows like a shrug, jamming his hands deeper into his pockets. If casual’s how Kurapika wants to play it, then fine. “You know how he is. ‘Boring’ this, ‘old man’ that, but when it comes down to it, you know, he’s really there. He called me the other day.”

“Did he?” Kurapika says, face closing down.

“Yeah. He’s worried about you. Not that he’d ever say it.”

“He shouldn’t worry.”

“Yeah, but he does. He’s a good kid. Got a big heart. He’s gonna be great,” Leorio says, and it’s a good hook. He gives it a beat, then tries the pitch. “Come on back. You should be there for when he does something big.”

Kurapika snorts softly. “You say that like he hasn’t already.”

“Well, you know. Bigger. Speaking of things that the shortstacks are up to, Gon was asking about you. He’s learning how to bake, I guess. Wanted to know if there was anything you liked.”

“Not particularly,” Kurapika says, wary again.

“I think Mito keeps threatening to pack him off to us. Wants him to make a mess in someone else’s kitchen for a change. You wanna be there for that, right?”

“I don’t,” he says, but now he won’t meet Leorio’s eyes, glaring off somewhere to the side instead.

“So you want to be here? Living on your own with no one else but ghosts?”

“Sounds peaceful,” Kurapika says pointedly, mouth flattening.

“Makes my skin crawl,” Leorio mutters, then shakes his head, waves off the thought. “What’m I supposed to tell Alluka if she asks where you are? Kid took a shine to you, and she _really_ wanted you to meet her sister.”

“This is all very transparent,” Kurapika says tightly.

“Yeah,” Leorio admits. It’s a cheap trick, really; guy can’t say no to kids. “But is it working?”

He’s shaking his head now, gaze cast down, hands in fists at his sides. “No,” he says. “No.”

Leorio waits a moment to keep his voice from shaking, then says, “Let me make you a deal. You come back to Yorknew with me, I’ll come back with you. Back here. Kakin. Whale Island. I don’t know. Anywhere. Wherever you want to go. You want me with you, just say the word.”

_“No,”_ Kurapika says, backing up, scrubbing his face with one sleeve, hand still clenched tight. “Leorio, you _can’t--”_

“It’s an exclusive offer. Just for you.”

_“I don’t want it!”_ Kurapika shouts, both fists coming down, feet planted, eyes blazing. “Go back to Yorknew! Leave me _here,_ I didn’t ask you--”

_“You think you can make me do anything?”_ Leorio shouts back at him, advancing, something cracking inside his chest. (A heart is soft tissue and cannot be broken, but Kurapika is sure giving it a shot.) “I’m here because I want to be here! And I’ll leave when I want to leave, and I’m not leaving here without you. You hear me? I’m not-- I’m not just waiting around for someone else to die!”

“I’m already dying! The conditions--”

“Is this about your bullshit time thing again?” Leorio demands, right in front of him now. “Shut up about that! You said it yourself, you don't know if you've got three days or thirty years, and I’m not letting you spend them here alone, just waiting!”

Kurapika doesn’t give that a chance, just glares up at him and snarls, “You think there’s anything left for me? _There’s nothing!”_

_“You think I’m nothing? You think Gon and Killua are nothing?_ What about Alluka and Nanika? _Melody?”_

Kurapika at least has the sense to look guilty, but then he sets his jaw and says, “I didn’t say that--”

_“Why don’t you say what you mean, then?_ Mr. Know-It-All! We’ve been through so much together, and you think I’d just let go of that? Don’t be stupid!” Leorio says, settling his hands on Kurapika’s shoulders.

Kurapika tenses, chin coming up, but Leorio has already stepped forward, closed the distance. He could shout again. He could keep shouting. He doesn’t want to shout again, he wants--

“Come back with me,” he’s saying, soft now, or at least softer, lifting his hands to cup Kurapika’s face. “Just come back. Come back. I don’t know what you want but I can wait right here with you until you find it, I want you around, I want you in my life, please just. Please.”

Kurapika glares up at him, eyes still doing that glow-thing they do when he’s freaked out or worked up or _pissed,_ and he just says, _“Why.”_

Leorio stares down at him, and his mouth works, but he doesn’t know where to start. There’s too much to say, and one thing they don’t talk about but he’s been hanging onto for a while. It’s been the wrong time for years, though, and it isn't any better now. Finally, he says, throat tight, “You’re my friend. You’re one of my very best friends. I can’t lose you. Come on.”

Kurapika is only staring back at him, mouth set flat and wide, eyes burning, face streaked wet and blotched red. He doesn’t budge when he gets like this. Doesn’t give an inch of ground. Hard to blame him, when he’s got so little left to give.

“Kurapika,” he says, hates that it sounds so helpless. “Come on. Don’t make me say it like this.”

For an instant, he thinks this is it. Kurapika will say no, pull away from him and disappear into the forest, never to be seen again. Maybe Leorio could find him a second time. Maybe. He could spend weeks or months trying to track him down, but Kurapika knows the forest better than he does, was stronger in Nen, and is more ruthless for sure. Still, Leorio’s not about to make it easy for him. It wouldn’t end well for either of them.

He doesn’t let go, doesn’t look away. Kurapika looks down, and Leorio tenses, but he only says softly, “I’m so tired.”

“Yeah?”

“Leorio. I’m so tired.”

“I know,” he says, gently strokes his thumbs against Kurapika’s cheeks. “I know. I’m sorry. I know I’m being selfish. I just want to see you tomorrow. Maybe the day after? And then after that?”

Kurapika’s just shaking his head, a small tight gesture, over and over and over. Leorio rakes his hair back from his eyes, then settles both hands on Kurapika’s shoulders again, head bowing over him, lips nearly to his forehead. Quietly, he says, “I miss you all the time. I like seeing you around and knowing, you know. What you’re doing. What you’re up to. Things are more interesting with you around.”

“I doubt that,” Kurapika says softly, and Leorio manages not to shake him, pulls back to try and look him in the eyes.

_“Well don’t!”_ he snaps, because even if Kurapika doesn’t know, _he_ knows, and it’s not up for debate. “ _Why would you say that?”_

And he can’t get anything else out after that. For a second, he’s choking, because god _damn,_ it’s still raw, even after all these years, it just comes rushing back, and no wonder Kurapika’s here like this now. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this. None of them did, but they still have to deal with it.

Leorio takes a deep breath. If nothing else, he can keep Kurapika around. Doesn’t matter how, he just has to get it done.

“It’s not the same,” he manages, then swallows hard. “It’s not the same at all, but I buried someone too. It--” He stops to catch his breath. Then he says fiercely, “It sucks! It-- It hurts. I know. I know it hurts. Don’t make me do that again.”

“You’ll live,” Kurapika says, and he guesses it’s supposed to be reassuring. It isn’t. Not for him, anyway. Probably wasn’t meant for him at all.

“You too!” he says. “Come on, Kurapika. Don’t leave me like this.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Big words from you! What are you even doing out here, you stupid asshole! Trying to _disappear?_ You can’t-- Don’t you dare pull that shit!”

“You have _no right_ to tell me what I do and do not dare!” Kurapika shouts back at him, pulls away so Leorio would have to reach to touch him again. Guess that really hit a nerve. Good.

Leorio lets his hands fall, shoulders loose. “Don’t I?”

“No!”

“Come on,” he says, wheedling because he’s pretty sure he can’t outshout Kurapika. Not right now, anyway. “Come on. We’re friends, right?”

_“Are_ we?” Kurapika says, tone venomous because he’s a spiteful little prick when he wants to be.

“Come on,” Leorio says, because no way Kurapika gets to duck out that easy. “Tell me honestly. We’re friends, right? We were. Are we still friends? I think we’re still friends. I really-- I would really like us to still be friends.”

“How unfortunate for you,” Kurapika says, jaw clenched.

“No,” he says, and his voice cracks. “Not really. Maybe sometimes, but I’d rather-- Even if it was, I’d still--” he begins, then hesitates. It’s a cheap shot, but it’s true, and he takes it. “I don’t wanna lose someone like you again.”

Kurapika flinches. Yeah. Yeah, he gets that. It’s a lot to even say. But he started and it’s hard to handle, but it’s even harder to stop.

“You can’t send me back. You can’t make me leave. I’m not gonna spend the rest of my life wondering if-- if there was something else I could’ve done. Something I missed. Just one more thing I could’ve done to bring you back.”

Kurapika looks up at that, shoulders tight, expression flat and hard. “What an interesting thought.”

“Don’t be a _shit!”_ Leorio says, and Kurapika doesn’t even snap back at him, just clenches his teeth like he wants them to crack. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, tries quieter, “But you get it, right? You and me, we get it. No more, right?”

The corners of Kurapika’s mouth go down, just for a second, then he looks away. “You really try too hard,” he says harshly. 

“It’s my best feature,” Leorio says. “Apart from my fashion sense.”

Kurapika doesn’t take the bait, just stays where he is, breathing.

Leorio stays where he is, lets it all settle for a moment, maybe get a better sense of where all the pieces might fall. Then his goddamn mouth gets the better of him and says, “Hey, I’ve got a question for you. What would… what would you do? If you could. If you had the chance to make sure this didn’t happen? Any of it. All of it.”

Kurapika’s gaze lifts at that and he just draws himself up, shoulders setting, back straight, feet planted, gaze the most intent and focused it’s been in months. He breathes in short and sharp and fast and says, “I would give _anything.”_

His hands are clenched so tight they’re shaking, and he’s looking at Leorio like it’s a dare, like he’s daring him to say one thing wrong, to tell him off, say it’s impossible, that too much would change, he just _can’t._ Leorio knows better. The one thing that eggs Kurapika on the most is being told he can’t do something. 

“Yeah,” Leorio says. “I know. But it’s just you and me here.”

All the color drains out of Kurapika’s face like he took a hit, like someone actually landed one on him, and he’s hurting, and pissed about it, but doesn’t know where to turn. A little risky, but Kurapika’s not the kind to lash out at other people. Worst that happens, he runs off and tries to run himself into the ground again, and-- no, nevermind. That’s still. Bad.

“I _know,”_ Kurapika says, voice thick, feet planting like he’s unsteady. “Believe me, _I know.”_

“I want to help you. I can’t help with all the other stuff, but I can help _you.”_

“Is that what you think?” Kurapika says, not looking at him, and Leorio shifts his weight forward, slow and careful.

“I mean. Yeah. I want to,” he says, then takes a breath to keep his voice steady. “I mean, I don’t know how much I can do, really, but it’s just you and me here, and I’ll keep talking at you if I have to, telling you things you don’t wanna hear, and this is all I can do! I know it’s not much but it’s all I can do!”

That didn’t go as well as it could have.

Kurapika backs up a step, then says slowly, “You shouldn’t underestimate yourself. Melody said you had the best heartbeat out of anyone she knew.” After a moment, he says with a little half laugh, though nothing in his face is amused, “She knows a lot of people. So you should remember it.”

Then he says, “You should go now,” and starts to turn away.

“What-- Hey,” Leorio says, grabs him by the shoulders again, and Kurapika lets him do it, though he tenses right up. “Is this-- That’s not a goodbye, right? Don’t make this a goodbye.”

He doesn’t answer. Leorio manages not to shake him, just keeps his hands steady on him, fingers tight, thumbs shifting over the little hollows just above his collarbone, and is he too thin now? Has he been eating enough, did Leorio just not notice, has he just been fading all this time? Can’t be. Impossible. There’s too much to Kurapika, there’s no way he could just vanish like that. There’s no way. Or there are ways, but they would all be awful, most of them violent, some of them just… quiet and unremarkable except for the absence. That would almost be the worst.

Leorio grits his teeth. He can’t take that again. He wasn’t lying, there’s no way he can do that again. His shoulders are starting to shake, and he tries to lock them down, but they’re still probably a dead giveaway. His hands stay steady, pressed tight against Kurapika, but his nose starts running, and this is just embarrassing. But he just has to keep it together until Kurapika gives in and comes back. It’ll be fine, he’s gonna make a good point, argue him around, convince him his life still has some sort of meaning, that he should stick around.

He’ll do it right when he can breathe again. Right when his throat stops clenching up. He sniffs, tries to breathe in. He’ll get there in just a few more seconds. Just a few. He’ll get there.

Slowly, very slowly, Kurapika lifts his head. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes are dimming, not angry so much anymore, and instead just sad. Just tired and sick and sad. One of his hands comes up and closes around Leorio’s wrist. Leorio gets ready to grab him again, but he doesn’t do anything else, just keeps it there. Then low and sullen, he says, “Fine.”

“What?” Leorio says, and it comes out strangled, his mouth slow and numb, eyes watering. He blinks hard, trying to clear his vision. “Sorry, what?”

_“Fine,”_ Kurapika says again, sounds like he’s choking on it, like it’s something lodged in his throat that he’s trying to spit out. “Fine! You win. I’ll go.”

Something hits him like a punch in the gut. Relief, he thinks. “Oh thank god,” Leorio says, all his words coming out in a rush. Yeah. Relief. He wraps both arms around Kurapika, pulls him close, knees shaking. He’s crying, he’s sure of it, can barely feel his face with the tightness in his chest. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Kurapika makes a little frustrated noise, head wriggling upwards so his face is free, chin nearly over Leorio’s shoulder. But he’s staying. That’s fine. Leorio doesn’t let him go.

“I don’t,” Kurapika begins, then grits his teeth, drags in a breath.

“You don’t, don’t what?” Leorio says, desperate, one hand flat against Kurapika’s back, other cupping the back of his head. “You can tell me. Talk to me. Please talk to me.”

_“I don’t want to live like this,”_ he says, voice hoarse and strangled and _furious,_ like he’s been cheated of something, but it breaks on the last word.

“I know,” Leorio says, arms tight around him to keep him close, keep him safe. “I know. I’m asking a lot of you. I know. Just stay with me. Not forever. Just for now. Just for this week. Just for a little while.”

“That’s very,” Kurapika begins unevenly, then swallows hard and says all in a rush, “I need to sit.”

He’s already heavier, knees probably folding, and Leorio misses the first few signs and nearly drops him before managing to bundle him close. Not the most graceful, but it worked.

“Why are you doing this?” Kurapika says, not doing a great job of finding his feet. _“Why are you like this?_ You make things so difficult.”

_“Me?”_ Leorio demands, hauling him upright again, voice cracking. _“I_ make things difficult? You think _I_ make things _‘difficult’?”_

“Exceedingly.”

“I--” he starts, and he just can’t do it. His voice breaks, can’t get anything out past the giant lump in his throat. If he says anything, he’s gonna shout, and if there’s anything he can’t do right now, it’s shout at Kurapika, who’s brought his hands up around to Leorio’s back. They catch in the fabric, then slide, like Kurapika doesn’t know whether he wants to hang on or push him away. Leorio knows which he’s hoping it is, personally. May as well make it easy for Kurapika.

“Sure,” he says, and it doesn’t come out right. He keeps trying. “Stick around. Tell me more.”

Kurapika just does not know what to do with this. If it seemed like he was gonna fall before, he just goes right ahead and does it now, but Leorio’s ready for him this time, even if he’s all dead-weight. Or hopefully still alive-weight. God, he’d better be alive-weight. There’d be a sign if it was his Nen thing, right? There’d be some sort of indication--

But no, he’s breathing. It’s horrible and rattling, and his shoulders are hitching up, but he’s breathing, and that’s fine. Leorio can work with that. First things first: just not… standing around in the middle of a forest.

“Let’s go sit?” he manages, though it’s hard to see and his chest is tight and Kurapika’s holding onto him hard enough to hurt now, fingers digging in.

Kurapika just shudders, makes a choked sound, like he’s trying to say something but can’t breathe. Leorio shifts his hold, readjusting Kurapika’s weight, and Kurapika makes a tiny noise, as though it hurts just a little too much for him to handle. But he doesn’t say anything else and he doesn’t let go.

“Okay,” Leorio says, hauling them both along. “Okay, okay.”

There’s a pretty good tree nearby, and he gets them settled in a little hollow. Moss, great; roots, great. Making sure none of Kurapika’s joints got pinched or bent the wrong way when they sat, great. 

“This okay?” he says, patting Kurapika’s face. Kurapika just turns away, face pressing against his chest, and cries, open-mouthed and noisy. That’s fine. Everyone hits their limits. This has been a long time coming. It’s okay.

Leorio pulls him close again and bursts into tears. Stupid. _Stupid._ He got what he wanted, he has no reason to cry. He does anyway. Kurapika’s crying. Kurapika’s coming back home with him. Might as well cry.

Weird how his chest can feel so full and so empty at the same time. 

It’s approaching late afternoon when he finally lifts his head. There’s a slight breeze, and while it hasn’t cooled down yet, it will once the sun starts to set. Bugs are already beginning to buzz in his ear. He’s probably been bitten a million times already without realizing.

Kurapika’s huddled against him, deathly still but breathing. Good enough. He doesn’t move as Leorio shifts to look down at him, has his eyes shut, mouth scrunched tight and miserable. He’s completely worn down. He needs water, maybe to eat something. But definitely water. There's none left in Leorio's bag. He stashed some away in the saddle, back with the birds, but they need to get up first.

Leorio leans down to press his face against Kurapika’s, forehead to nose bridge. After a moment--he could be imagining it--Kurapika presses very slightly back. They fit together somehow. They always have.

He pulls back and says, voice hoarse, “I’m gonna get up now. And then I’ll give you a hand. Okay?”

Kurapika doesn’t answer. Makes sense. Okay.

Leorio detaches carefully, readjusting Kurapika to lean against the tree, then gets up, gritting his teeth and grumbling under his breath as he realizes his legs are completely asleep. Steadying himself, he lightly pummels his upper thigh, tries to shake out the pins and needles. He stamps his feet, walks in small circles until he feels steady again, legs burning but no longer numb.

He crouches and pats Kurapika’s shoulder twice, waits until he opens his eyes, then offers him a hand. Kurapika just looks at it for a moment, bleary and miserable, still leaned up against the tree. When he doesn’t move to take it, Leorio kneels, carefully sliding his hand beneath Kurapika’s, and waits again.

Kurapika shuts his eyes, then slowly grips his hand. Not hard at all, just a little bit of pressure, like his fingers are barely there. But it’s enough to lever him up, palm beneath his, other hand at his elbow, then circling around to his back.

“Come on,” Leorio says quietly. “Let’s go.”

It’s slow going. Kurapika walks like he’s half-asleep, or recovering from a long illness. Leorio tries to go steady and slow, but not too slow. No reason to give him any time to change his mind again. He’d pick Kurapika up and haul him the rest of the way back if he thought it would work.

They’re nearly to the graves before Leorio realizes, but Kurapika only looks at them, eyes shadowed, then waits for him to grab his bag and keep walking, leans a little heavier on him as they take the path that leads away. Going through the village is the fastest way back. It’s bad, but probably better than cutting through the jungle.

Kurapika just hunches his shoulders at the first house they come across, head hanging. He turns to keep it in sight as they pass, then fixes his gaze on the next one. Then the next. And the next. After that first one, he doesn’t flinch. Hard to say if he even blinks.

His grip’s getting real tight. Leorio doesn’t mention it, just says, “Don’t look if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.”

“Okay,” Leorio says, keeps one hand on his back.

They’re not even halfway through when Kurapika does a full-body shudder, like he’s about to be sick, and Leorio immediately pulls him close again, props Kurapika under his chin.

Kurapika just shudders again and pulls back. Leorio keeps hold of one of his hands, settles an arm behind his back again, and nudges him forward, just a little push. He doesn’t start walking until Kurapika does.

They’re barely halfway through when Leorio realizes the small sounds that Kurapika’s making probably aren’t just the ones that people make when they’re overwhelmed. Too regular. Uneven and jerky, but deliberate. Mumbled, though, nearly under his breath and clumsy, like his mouth is numb.

“What are you saying?”

Kurapika stops right in the middle of the path, and doesn’t answer him right away. Then he says slowly, “I am telling them… that I hope they can rest now. I have done all that I can. I brought them home.”

“Kurapika,” Leorio says, not sure what to follow it up with. Seems wrong to say nothing, though.

Kurapika looks up at him, head swinging like it’s too heavy to hold up, expression strained.

“You did good. You did just fine.”

Kurapika breathes in hard and clutches his hand, tight enough to hurt. Then he lets go abruptly and pulls his arms tight against himself. At least he lets Leorio keep one hand again his back, though he twitches a little. Leorio settles it lightly on his shoulder instead.

“Let’s just keep walking,” Leorio says, and it’s hard. It’s hard not to just grab him and go, but if Kurapika’s gonna leave at all, it has to be on his own two feet. He’s too stubborn to accept anything else. Sure, it’s slow, and he walks like he’s about to keel over at any second, and sometimes he stops to just stand and shiver and breathe unevenly as he scrubs at his face.

But he keeps going.

He turns back when they’re past the village, but when Leorio looks, they’ve gone too far for anything to be seen. There’s no trace of it. Kurapika makes a horrible strangled sound, and nearly pulls away.

“Hey, no,” Leorio says gently, folds him close again, but Kurapika shoves him back, breathing gone harsh again, eyes wild.

Leorio stays where he is, hands out, wary. He’s stronger, but if it really gets physical, it’ll be nasty. Kurapika’s not the kind to pull any punches, and he’s not exactly at his best right now. No telling what he might try.

He takes a step forward and walks right into Leorio, who folds him close again. He’s not thinking right, doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s still pointed towards the village, like a needle only spinning to the direction of a magnet, not knowing where else to go. He tries to push forward, feet digging into the ground, but Leorio braces himself, keeps hanging on.

“Hey. Look at me. Look at me.”

Kurapika’s not looking. “I should have been here,” he’s saying, over and over again. “I should have done something.”

“Can’t change that now,” Leorio tells him quietly, and it is the meanest thing he’s ever done. Kurapika shudders and hunches up against him, drags in a breath that sounds more like a sob.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, shaking and nearly inaudible with his face pressed to Leorio’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Leorio says, and pulls him close, gently pats his back. “It’s okay. It’s really okay.” His hand settles, and he holds Kurapika and says, because it’s true, “They forgive you.”

Kurapika flinches, back stiffening. “How would you know,” he says bitterly, pulling away. Leorio lets him get as far as arm’s length, keeps both hands on his shoulders.

“Because they loved you,” he says, because they’re his family and it’s true, and it just-- It’s true. “I’m sure of it. Who wouldn’t love you?”

Kurapika stops dead and looks back at him, eyes hollow and tired and a million years older than they should be. “You shouldn’t.”

It’s a cheap shot. Leorio doesn’t let go. “Don’t say shit like that,” he says, throat tight. It was a cheap shot and he deserves it, but still. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Kurapika doesn’t waver, doesn’t take it back, but like hell Leorio’s gonna let him get away with this. He tightens his grip, glares down at Kurapika, who just says again, quietly, “You shouldn’t.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Can’t I?” Kurapika says, and it should be sharp and high-handed and a little mean, but instead it’s just a cheap knock-off, like someone doing a bad impression of Kurapika after seeing him from a distance.

It’s bait. An easy opening. Not really like him at all. Leorio says, “Good luck trying.”

Kurapika just stares up at him, eyes flicking slightly like Leorio’s a puzzle and if he can just find the missing piece, he can find the solution he wants instead of what he’s got to work with. Leorio sets his jaw and settles in to wait him out. Kurapika can look all he wants, but whether they stay or go, it’s going to be together.

Slowly, Kurapika’s face crumples, and he finally leans in again, forehead coming to rest against Leorio’s arm. He doesn’t say anything else, which is about the closest he’s gonna get to an apology. Fine.

Leorio puts an arm around his shoulders again. Then he gives up, pulls him close just to feel him near and Kurapika sighs, heavy and low and long, until he’s emptied out completely. He needs to rest. He needs some time. He needs a lot more than what Leorio can get him, and he’s not gonna get it on his own.

Leorio lowers his head, says to him quietly, “Let’s go back. I wanna take you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE. This is the first multi-chapter work I've ever, _ever_ finished, and I'm so glad it was this one, and I'm SO _SO_ glad y'all decided to join me for the ride. Some thanks are in order, because it's the end of a FULL YEAR of me working on this, and it's only proper:
> 
> Many thanks to [whilst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whilst/pseuds/whilst) for beta'ing and handholding, especially since it was less of the beta version than the alpha: buggy... missing code... continually being patched. So many patches...
> 
> Thanks as well to [desolatesandwich](http://desolatesandwich.tumblr.com/) for endorsing several of my bad ideas, answering pretty much any question about medical miscellany that I had at all hours of the day (but mostly night), and also drawing me the most charming Kurapikas.
> 
> Many, many thanks to [Mosey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mosey/pseuds/Mosey), who never gave up on me eventually watching Hunter x Hunter, thereby ensuring I would spend the entire past year in emotional turmoil and anguish. Thank you, I love it.
> 
> And lastly, thanks to y'all! Everyone who read, commented, shared, bookmarked. I'm really grateful that this piece of self-indulgence connected with each of you in some way. To those incredibly powerful souls out there leaving comments (I'm shy! So that's really amazing to me!!!), if I said I didn't save each and every comment to reread and coo delightedly over, I'd be lying. Thank you <3
> 
> Catch y'all on the flipside <3 <3 <3


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise epilogue!
> 
> Warning for light and trivial bleeding.

The main terminal is crowded this time of day. Leorio frowns when someone jostles him, checks the time on his phone. Still a little early, but he didn’t feel like just sitting around. Probably just a habit for them, booking travel during the rush hour because it’s better for secret mob reasons, but what does he know.

An announcement blares, and when he glances up, irritated, he catches sight of them and straightens. They’re not exactly tall, but something about them stands out in a crowd. Or, well, Melody’s noticeable when she wants to be, but mostly she looks like anyone’s old eccentric cousin or grandma or distant relative. But there’s something about Kurapika that makes him look like he doesn’t quite fit.

Maybe it’s just the Nen. Or the haircut.

It’s been half a year. He looks… better. Still tired, but more alert. Leorio waves at about the same time Melody points, then he picks up his bag and starts pushing through the crowd. They meet somewhere in the middle, standing to the side of one of the schedule boards, a little insulated from the foot-traffic.

“Leorio,” Melody says, smiling, and he leans down to hear her better. Her voice tends to get lost in the noise. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Same here,” he says, grinning back at her. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Much too long. I have to go now, but we should catch up. I’d like to hear how your studies are going.” Her voice is as breathy as always, with a little bit of a rasp at the end. If it bothers her, she doesn’t let it show. He doesn’t know the full scope of what that music did to her, but he hopes it can be undone. Can’t be comfortable, breathing like that.

He glances at Kurapika. Too late to say hello now, and also what’s even there to say. “We’ve got twenty minutes if there’s anything else you wanna do.”

“No, I’m ready.” Kurapika puts a hand on Melody’s shoulder, says quietly, “Thank you. I’ll call.”

When she reaches up, he leans down so she can put her hands on both sides of his face and kiss his forehead. “Take care of yourself,” she says, then gives him a stern look.

“I’ll try.”

She holds his gaze for a moment longer, then nods. “Okay.” Then she looks at Leorio and adds, “You too.”

“Won’t let anything happen to him,” Leorio says, one hand up and other to his chest. It looked cool when he saw it in a movie once. “You have my word.”

“No,” she says patiently, and like he’s a complete idiot. “You take care of yourself, too.”

“Hey,” he says, grinning. “Don’t worry about me. I know better.”

Beside him, Kurapika snorts, is staring off down the terminal when Leorio turns to glare. Melody pats his elbow and says, “See you again soon, I hope.”

“Me too,” Leorio replies, and she smiles up at him, fond and warm. Then her head goes up as she stiffens, turning slightly to look down the terminal.

_“Shit,”_ she says, and Leorio gapes at her as she squeezes his hand. “That’s my flight, I have to go, take care of each other.”

“We will,” Leorio manages, but she has Kurapika by the hand now and is frowning up at him, which is basically a glare from anyone else.

“I promise,” Kurapika says, and she gives his hand a squeeze before releasing him and wading back into the crowd.

Leorio waits until she’s nearly out of sight before he rounds on Kurapika and hisses, _“Melody swears?”_

“You swear,” Kurapika says, completely unruffled.

“That’s different! Melody’s like my _grandma!”_

“Your grandmother doesn’t swear?”

“I mean, she does, but--”

Kurapika’s already shouldering his bag and heading off. “We should find our gate soon, shouldn’t we?”

Leorio hurries to catch up with him. “It’s nice that she’s so sweet to you.”

“Mm.”

“Can I try that?” he says, tapping the top of Kurapika’s head.

Kurapika swats him away. “No.”

“Just a little one.”

“Not on your life,” he says, but it’s without heat and he’s looking aside.

“Sure,” Leorio says, then drops an arm around his shoulders, pulls him close for an instant before letting him go. Kurapika grumbles to himself, but doesn’t walk more than a half pace forward and to the side.

They get to the gate in plenty of time, and Kurapika doesn’t want anything from the newstand, so Leorio gets a bottle of the latest weird-colored sports drink, because the water’s overpriced and also for electrolytes or whatever, plus some snacks. He considers a magazine briefly, but there’s nothing interesting and honestly, he has enough to read. Kurapika doesn’t say anything, but he’s pointed right towards the gate the entire time, makes sure to keep it in his sight.

When they call priority boarding, he just freezes. Leorio has to nudge him to get him moving. “Come on,” he says, and Kurapika gives himself a little shake, brushes off his sleeve.

“Very well, then,” he says, and they go.

\----

They’ve booked commercial this time, which makes things easier, in a way. Leorio gives him the window seat, which is either his way of showing kindness or ensuring Kurapika doesn’t slip away sometime during the flight with him none the wiser. He eyes Leorio, who is leaning past him to peer out the window as they ascend. 

Kindness, most likely. Kurapika frowns down at the side of his head, does not rule out subterfuge.

“Sorry, am I in your way?” Leorio says with every sign of chagrin, but does not move.

No sense in worrying over it. Kurapika sighs, then leans back in his seat, turns to look out the window as well. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the view, the land stretching out before him, the continual sprawl of the horizon, each new and different country just out of reach.

He exhales unsteadily, and Leorio glances over at him, doesn’t ask.

The rest of the journey goes about as well as expected. The vendor for the bird rentals gives Leorio a wary look, but does not otherwise remark. Leorio, for his part, manages to keep silent and well back from the birds until they reach the city limits.

Then he says, reins in his hands, extreme distaste in his expression as he looks up at his walking bird, “You know this is the worst, right?”

Kurapika swings into the saddle, and says, “Keep up.”

And he does, despite his complaints.

They can travel at a steady pace now, have no timeline save the end of Leorio’s vacation. So they ride for three hours and stop for half so Leorio can stretch and gripe, but he is doing much better than his first time around. At least, that’s how it seems for the next few hours.

Kurapika has remounted already after their second break, several lengths ahead. He reins the bird back, nearly to a standstill so they can wait, but it fidgets, restive. So he lets it pace slowly forward as he gauges the shadows and the trees in the distance.

“Ow!” Leorio says somewhere behind him, then, _“Are you kidding me?”_

He halts, looking behind him to find Leorio nearly doubled over next to his bird, clutching his head. To his credit, he still has the reins looped around one hand, though the walking-bird is crowding him, clucking and prodding him with its beak. His own bird grumbles, and he turns it around. “Are you all right?”

“I’m bleeding,” Leorio calls back, clearly aggrieved and fending off his bird as he goes to dig in one of the packs. “Hold up, I’m gonna need to get something on this.”

Kurapika dismounts, chains already chiming against the back of his hand. “I could--”

_“Don’t you dare,”_ Leorio says, immediate and harsh, and he halts in the middle of tethering his bird. Then he finishes the knot, and takes a deep breath.

When he glances over, Leorio is glaring at him, livid and needlessly dramatic with a spill of blood already trailing down the side of his face. Then he looks aside and mutters, “Just come over here and take this thing away from me.”

He’s managed to get hold of his medical kit already, popping it open as he presses the cuff of one sleeve against the side of his head to staunch the bleeding. Kurapika leads the bird a safe distance away and secures it to a tree, where it shuffles restlessly from side-to-side.

“That was very mean-spirited of you,” Kurapika informs it, and it grumbles to itself, scratches the ground. “He’s really a good person, not so far down.”

“Quit chatting with that monster and give me a hand with this, will you?”

He gives the walking bird a final warning look before going to crouch by Leorio, who is currently picking at a fresh roll of gauze with his free hand. He takes it and tears an end free before handing it back.

Leorio doesn’t take it, just flaps his free hand and says, “Could you?”

“Can’t you bandage this yourself?”

“Yeah, but it’s easier when someone else does it.”

That may be true. He looks over the supplies, then unwraps one of the antiseptic swabs. “This may sting.”

“I know what it does!” Leorio snaps.

Useless to argue. He raises a hand to take hold of Leorio’s chin, swab held in the other. “Hold still.”

Leorio leans away from him. “Wear gloves. There are some in the kit.”

“Do you have any bloodborne diseases?”

“Don’t ask that shit,” Leorio says, rolling his eyes. “No. Put’em on anyway.”

He does, then tilts Leorio’s head so he can inspect the injury. It is hard to see, hidden in his hair, but it seems there is already slight swelling, and it will likely bruise; Leorio may have a bit of a black eye for a few days. Nothing serious. The blood is expected for a head wound. It looks worse than it is, really.

“Well?”

“Not bad,” Kurapika says, coming back to himself. He cleans the wound first, then presses and holds until the bleeding has slowed. Then he tears open another swab to clear away the streaked blood before he covered the wound with two clean squares of gauze, covers them with the end of the bandage.

He wraps it around twice, then considers. In normal circumstances, that would suffice, but they will be moving quickly for another hour or so. Best to secure it now, rather than be surprised later. So he wraps from the top of Leorio’s head to around the bottom of his jaw as well, altnerating with around his temples, fingers occasionally brushing against the curve of his ear or his throat..

Leorio, for once, has no comment to make. And he has no comment to give, only readjusting Leorio’s posture once or twice while Leorio stares fixedly ahead as his face grows noticeably warmer. Which makes sense. Blood will rush to a wounded site. It’s hardly unusual.

“Done,” he says, pulling off the gloves and balling them inside out, bloodied gauze and wipes contained within. He isn’t sure where to put it, and so shoves the whole wad into his pocket.

“It looks stupid,” Leorio complains, feeling his hair as he gathers his feet beneath him.

Kurapika pats his shoulder, then stands back to give him space. “I can hardly tell.”

“I thought people were supposed to mellow with age.”

“You may have been thinking of _wine,”_ he says pointedly.

_“As if_ you know shit about booze. Come on, try another.”

Kurapika rolls his eyes, and Leorio grins. 

“Why?” he says. “Were you trying to tell me to stop complaining? Come out and say it to my face.”

He looks ridiculous. Kurapika turns away and heads back towards his bird. “You talk too much.”

The rest of the journey passes without incident, though Leorio refuses to dismount from his bird again unless Kurapika is holding the reins. When they dismount for the last time, he stands well back and insists that Kurapika tether both birds as well.

“None of those stretched-out chickens ever like me,” he says, scowling at them.

“You’re too tall,” Kurapika says, unloading the saddlebags and dragging them to the side. “They see you as a threat.”

“Brainless featherbags,” Leorio mutters, then comes to stand warily beside him. After a moment, he says, “You want any help?”

Kurapika considers the bags. He is more than capable of carrying the supplies on his own, had been planning on it. Then he sighs, begins separating it out into two parcels. “Sure.”

Fruits in one bag, with the wrapped cleaver, cutting board, and platters on top. The camping equipment and other assorted supplies go in the other. One bag will be heavier, the other slightly more unwieldy. Kurapika settles back on his heels to consider them, then points to the one with the camping equipment. “Will you take that one?”

“On it,” Leorio says, hoists it up and resettles his own bag.

They are both quiet as they walk, and it is much easier to find the way now. Kurapika casts an appraising gaze over the village as they pass through. There is more structural damage. His neighbor’s house has collapsed, and his parents’ is doubtless soon to follow. He hesitates, and Leorio glances over. They could shore it up. Neither of them know anything about construction, and they have no tools, but they could figure something out.

He stands there only a moment longer, then keeps walking. He has prospects already, if he chooses to restore it. But perhaps better to let these remains fade quietly back into the forest. They were never meant to stay forever. 

Leorio hurries after him, then keeps pace. “Plants are doing a number on that one,” he says, nodding towards one further ahead, to their right. One of the archivists had lived there, had shown him once the best wood to burn for charcoal sticks. He hardly remembers the sound of her voice.

“I am aware.”

“You really talking to Ging about this?”

“He is the best at what he does, and he owes people who owe me,” Kurapika says calmly. He is not looking forward to the process, if that is what he chooses.

Leorio snorts. “Like he’ll ever follow through.”

“If he says he will, he will. He keeps his word. It’s just rarely what anyone else wants him to do,” Kurapika says, frowning. “Let’s not talk about him.”

They turn and leave the village, press through the woods and irrepressible plantlife. Leorio halts as they approach the edge of the treeline. Kurapika turns back, and waits.

The stone markers have not weathered at all in these few months, which he could be glad for. Granite square pillars with the names marked down vertically in their language, and a small horizontal line of the trade-tongue. There’s nothing to feel about it, however. It simply is. What eyes he could identify, or tricked himself into believing he identified from patchwork memory and the dowsing chain, have all been named correctly. For the rest… he had done his best, but there was never a guarantee. He knew that already.

Leorio’s expression has gone soft and strange. Somewhere between reverence and sorrow and relief, or something less tangible than all of those. “Well, look at that,” he says, voice hushed. “Big changes, huh?”

“Not so many.”

“You’re buying the land?”

“It’s in the final stages,” Kurapika says, then shifts the bag on his shoulder. “I will consider donating it, if I receive the right offer. With some stipulations.”

“Yeah, I bet. Any bites so far?”

“I haven’t looked,” Kurapika says, and Leorio does not ask further. He sets his bag down, and Leorio drops his as well, looks expectantly at him.

He kneels and rummages around in the bags until he finds the cleaver and the cutting board, pulls them out along with several of the striped yellow melons, oblong and smaller here than in the city, but sweeter by far.

He settles the cutting board so it’s flat on the ground, then settles a melon on it, eyes it with the cleaver in hand. Perhaps it should only be cut in half, or maybe in pieces? His mother had given him a piece at his grandfather’s funeral, mellow and sweet, but perhaps she wasn’t supposed to. It might have just been to keep him quiet.

There’s no one to ask anymore, so he steadies the melon and cuts it into halves, then quarters, then chops it evenly into bite-sized pieces, and it feels wrong, wrong, but it is all he can think to do. He puts the cleaver down when it becomes difficult to see. One has been chopped. Many more remain.

“Want me to cut?”

“No, it’s fine,” Kurapika says, wipes his eyes on a sleeve. “I’m fine.”

Leorio’s hand settles on his shoulder. “Hey, look at me?”

When he looks, Leorio is crouching beside him, studying his face intently. Then he sweeps some of Kurapika’s hair back and clips it into place on the right, does the same for the left.

“Alluka left some last time she visited,” he says by way of explanation before standing again. “Don’t worry, they’re cute.”

Kurapika grimaces, then shoos him away towards the gravestones. He shouldn’t be so close when there’s chopping to be done. “Go clear them off. Pull up any plants that are growing over them.”

“You want me to _weed?”_ Leorio says, making a face.

Kurapika waves him off again, already sliding the chopped melon onto a large platter. “There are gloves in the other bag.”

He grumbles, then scuffs his feet against the ground like a sulking child, but he goes. Kurapika sits back to watch him. He is a good friend.

Kurapika looks back down at his hands, then leans over to select another melon. The work will go faster with two people, but they are still only two, and there is a great deal of work to be done. He eyes the lines of it, then splits it in half.

The rest of the chopping goes smoothly, and he waves flies away from the melon each time he transfers a new batch to a platter. Eight are filled by the time he runs out of melon, and the grapes hardly need to be separated. He picks out any that have been crushed, drops them into one of the bags the fruit came in. Later, he can empty the bag further out in the forest. Let the flies have those as well.

He takes the first tray and carries it to the center of the graveyard. Settling it on the ground, he eyes it to make certain it is level, then goes to bring the next over. He had done individual rites with his parents before, for his grandparents, some elders, and the distant ancestors far down the genealogy, but it is unfeasible now. If the entirety of his clan is present, they’ll simply have to share.

Certainly the elder would have something to say about that, or one of his cronies. Kurapika frowns down at the tray, jostles it slightly so the fruit will lie more even. Would he have regretted it, for only one person to survive? Would it have changed anything? Would it have mattered who it was? Would he have chosen, if he could?

Useless to think about it. 

He carries over the last of the fruit, settles it down, and stays kneeling to survey the result. It’s not the prettiest, but it is what he could do. After a moment, he reaches out to adjust a cube of melon, then nudges the grapes so they fall more artfully, resists the urge to pop one into his mouth. There is some form of fire at dusk, he knows. Something with smoke and scent. A chime hung in a nearby branch to catch the breeze, a waypoint for wandering ghosts. But aside from that, he does not fully recall.

He could pray, perhaps. But they wouldn’t come out right. He never liked it as a child, never bothered to learn completely, for all that he was made to repeat them over and over and over again. He had deliberately forgotten, or jumbled the words on purpose. There are so many things he would have done differently, if he had known. 

And then he has been sitting too long, and his legs are asleep, and Leorio has gotten all the way to the end of his second row and doubled back, slouching along behind him, still somehow grousing about dirt.

He shudders, even in the sun and the heat, and Leorio goes quiet. Then, carefully, his footsteps approach, loafers grinding flat and heavy against the earth, and what kind of person wears loafers to a forest anyway. Kurapika stays where he is, does not say anything, does not embarrass himself by trying to get up when his legs are so numb.

After a moment, Leorio shifts uneasily, then says, “You need a minute?”

“No,” he says. He unclips his hair and pushes it back out of his eyes, absently reclipping the barrettes to his sleeve. “How is weeding?”

“Fuck you,” Leorio says, as though he were offended.

“Not in front of my parents.”

Leorio makes an amusingly mortified sound, somewhere between a squawk and a screech as he takes two full steps back, and Kurapika laughs. It takes them both by surprise, and he coughs into one hand, looks away as Leorio does.

Then Leorio scoffs. “I’ve got work to do!” he exclaims as he stomps away to another corner of the graveyard.

He is three rows ahead and to the right when Kurapika looks again, already squatting to tend to the weeds again and rolling his sleeves back up.

A loud, plaintive, “Can you _believe_ this guy?” drifts across the markers, and it is the work of a moment to imagine Leorio in the village as it was, as it should be. Stumbling his way through a new language, doubtless pantomiming most of the time. Getting by on over-exaggerated gesture and tone, and the earnest desire to do better.

Nothing to be done about it now. Kurapika stays where he is a moment longer, then rises slowly, dusting off his knees and thumping a fist down his calves as they prickle. He turns to a far corner, knows this time what he is looking for, though perhaps not what to do. He may still only be a disrespectful child, unable to give his parents their full due. 

He did not see his father mourn his own father, only the funeral, and the grim quiet that had settled over their household. Never one to complain, his father had simply gone about his days, somber, until suddenly, he would rise and quit the table and go to weep in the forest. 

Kurapika stops as he draws near their headstones. They are not so dissimilar. He misses them terribly. Rationally, distantly, he knows he always will, and that one day, it may even be bearable. Not what was done to them. Never what was done to them. But perhaps, one day, their absence.

There they are. He kneels, and sets his bare hands on the stone. “Mom. Dad,” he says, then falters. It’s been so long. His own words feel strange on his tongue.

Somewhere to the side, Leorio is moving on to the next marker, sounds of his rustling and conversational muttering fainter already. It’s… reassuring, somehow. Not familiar yet, but it could be. 

He blinks and exhales, looks down again, thumbs tracing the letters carved into the stone. “I’m back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this done months ago, but here we are. I know some folks were hoping for a happier ending, and while this isn't _quite_ it, I hope it serves.
> 
> Thank you all again for your kindness and attention! I may have pulled my hair out multiple times over the course of this journey, but I have also enjoyed it immensely, and I'm glad to have been able to share it here. Thank you, thank you, thank you <3


End file.
